<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Various ways in which Walter White could’ve died by Vicky10</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851369">Various ways in which Walter White could’ve died</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky10/pseuds/Vicky10'>Vicky10</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Breaking Bad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cousin Incest, I Don't Even Know, Multi, Rare Pairings, a lot of dying</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:22:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28851369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky10/pseuds/Vicky10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A few short oneshots of scenes taken from Breaking Bad, in which one small detail is changed and the whole situation turns out entirely differently... leading each time to Walter White’s death.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Emilio slips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Like in Breaking Bad (and Better Call Saul), some of the very worst realities of cartel violence and drug trafficking simply don’t exist in this fanfiction (because, well, it’s pure fiction and it’s for fun). </p><p>There are some references to Better Call Saul, but no major spoilers and you don’t need to have seen any part of Better Call Saul to understand this whole fanfic. </p><p>Oh, and there are some random pairings thrown in, gay or straight (including one with cousins together), although no graphic sex scenes, just saying. I haven’t watched the show in a while, so there might be some inaccuracies, my bad. There is also, of course, a lot of stuff I made up, like in some characters’ backstory - that’s what fanfictions are for, after all! </p><p>Maybe I should mention that some other genetally liked characters - like Jesse and Hank - will sometimes die as well.<br/>And needless to say, I don’t own Breaking Bad (and I don’t own Better Call Saul either), I wrote this for fun. </p><p>Anyway, if anyone at all happens to stumble across this fanfiction, enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Domingo had assumed Jesse Pinkman was making it up when he’d told them that bizarre story about some sixty years old chemistry teacher producing the top-quality meth he’d just tried - and had been fully ready to torture the truth out of that idiot.</p><p>Domingo’s opinion of him had always been very low - Jesse came from a rather well-off family, with parents - from what Domingo had seen - that were quite normal, not abusive or anything, and yet Jesse seemed determined to act as if he was one of them, as if they were actual friends. </p><p> </p><p>The Molinas’ furniture shop, in reality, sold very little - there were a thousand better places at more convenient locations where one could buy that kind of stuff. No, it was just a façade, a way to explain where their money came from if anyone wanted to look into it. It wasn’t that the family hadn’t tried to earn money in a non-criminal way - they had, and they could have succeeded, if it wasn’t for Alicia’s terribly unlucky accident and Alejandro’s heroin addiction. </p><p>Indeed, Domingo’s older sister had been hit by a car while going to work on her bike; she’d been knocked unconscious and the driver hadn’t even stopped - a hit-and-run, on a road that was most of the time deserted, but that she often used as a shortcut to avoid being late, as her boss wasn’t of the comprehensive kind. She’d been thankfully found by a passerby in time for an ambulance to arrive and get her to the hospital before her condition could worsen a lot.<br/>
However, while she had kept her life, she had lost a major part of her mobility - which had devastated her, especially as she loved running.<br/>
The doctors were not optimistic as to the odds of her ever being able to walk again, but her siblings refused to give up on her and decided to pay to get her the best possible treatments; she had been making great progress, and could walk a little bit, very slowly, and seemed to be enjoying life again, no longer suicidal - finding her dead by her own doing had been one of the biggest fears of her family the previous year.<br/>
However, all of this cost an absolute fortune - the ambulance ride, the initial treatments (including the many other broken bones, such as quite a few ribs and both arms, in addition to what had happened to her leg) and then the whole process to give her back her ability to walk.<br/>
And no, they’d never found the car that had done this to her - they had no one to sue.<br/>
Only very, very rich people could have afforded all of that without resorting to illegal means of earning money - which they were most definitely not. </p><p>Then, Domingo’s uncle had begun to steal from the rest of the family - lying about what he would use the money for or blatantly snatching whatever few possessions they had - to buy more and more heroin. And when confronted about it, Alejandro had promised that he’d get better, that he’d stop taking any drugs at all, that he’d never rob them again, that he’d pay back every penny - which, needless to say, had not even been close to the truth.<br/>
Domingo had clearly seen what would happen; so had Alicia and their other siblings. They’d all told their father, repeatedly, that he really couldn’t trust his brother, that Alejandro would just do it again… yet Matias, their father, had refused to listen. He’d believed, like a complete imbecile, all of his brother’s bullshit. </p><p>If the piece of shit had not gotten stabbed to death in the middle of the night while out looking for - of course - his usual shots of heroin, there was little doubt that he would have led them all to ruin - and that they wouldn’t have been able to continue Alicia’s treatment.<br/>
Only Matias had cried at Alejandro’s funeral; most of the family had not even bothered to attend, Domingo himself going only in support of his father, while silently cursing the fact that the latter had spent any money at all on it and had actually bought flowers.<br/>
At least, Matias had returned only once to replace the old, long-faded lilies with new ones; after that - as far as Domingo knew - he’d finally stopped wasting money on Alejandro. </p><p>It wasn’t the first time that Domingo had gone to a relative’s funerals - far from that. The one that had affected him the most was, naturally, his mother’s, deceased years ago of an illness.<br/>
She, unlike Alejandro, had deserved a proper burial. She deserved to have her grave visited.<br/>
Unfortunately, that was not the case, as said grave was in Mexico, more than a thousand miles away from where the Molinas currently lived. </p><p>Emilio’s situation was directly tied to Domingo’s: Emilio’s mother (Domingo’s aunt) had pretty much abandoned them with Domingo’s father - just like her husband had, much earlier - he was therefore also helping to pay for Alicia’s treatment (the latter was embarrassed by how much effort both her siblings and cousins had to make for her, but they all assured her that they were more than okay with it, that they all just wanted her to get better; she promised that she would pay them back once she well enough, and they knew that - unlike that worthless Alejandro - she meant it, despite them constantly telling her that none of this was her fault).</p><p> </p><p>And that was why the two cousins had ended up in that business - and why Domingo really looked down on Jesse, who had had it easy for most of his life. Domingo knew very well that not all problems were visible, and that there were also many people who had it much worse than himself and Emilio, but when it came to Jesse… well, Domingo didn’t think he could be very wrong in assuming that Jesse was simply lazy and rather stupid. </p><p>Thus, driving into the desert, following Jesse’s indications, Domingo had been, naturally, cautious - not actually going exactly the way Jesse told him, instead taking some alternative routes, having Emilio look out for any possible traps, like at every empty street corner - while not truly believing that it was a trick; no, Jesse wasn’t capable of setting them up in such an elaborate way. Domingo had thought that the only point of Jesse’s rather nonsensical description of “Walter White” was, probably, just a desperate attempt at getting himself out of a... difficult situation.</p><p>Consequently, Domingo had not actually been expecting what was now in front of them - a man who looked to be around sixty years old, wearing only a green apron and white underwear, standing next to an awkwardly parked RV, staring at them in some confusion. </p><p>What the actual fuck? Who is this guy… and why is he half-naked? Domingo was reluctant to get any closer to him… this dude was creepy as fuck. </p><p>“What are you, some kind of nudist?” </p><p>Before the man could answer, Emilio said, jumping out of the car: “Hey! I recognize him - he’s a DEA agent! He was there when I got busted!” </p><p>Domingo froze. Shit, the situation had just gotten a lot more complicated… </p><p>It was, in fact, him, and not Jesse, who had ratted out Emilio to the DEA.<br/>
It deeply disgusted Domingo that he’d been forced to do this, to play the part of a snitch - but those had been Lalo’s orders, transmitted through his lawyer, and one could not just say no to someone like Lalo and expect to not be harmed. If Domingo had refused to follow the instructions - which had been, at that moment, to tell on his own cousin, to keep up the appearances - both he and Emilio would have been in a much worse situation; it was better for Emilio to potentially spend some time in jail (that lawyer, who was impressively good at his job, would do his best to reduce his sentence) than to be murdered, in a likely very painful, by people sent by Lalo or another one of the bosses.</p><p>At least, that was the very last time that Domingo had to snitch - then he could “return to normal”, with some changes to his routines, to avoid getting in trouble again. </p><p>But presently there he was, with a new obstacle to deal with. </p><p>He reflected on this quickly: could this man, supposedly named Walter White, be a DEA agent? But what the fuck would a DEA agent be doing half-naked in the middle of the desert, by all appearances next to a meth lab? That seemed much too complex to be a trap… besides, Domingo had never heard of anyone with that name - or that face - at the DEA. </p><p>Deciding to take the risk, he ordered him to show them how he was making that meth, Domingo’s gun being a good incentive for White to proceed. Leaving Jesse knocked out, with his hands tied behind his back - not that he represented a considerable danger anyway - the two cousins followed him inside of the RV. </p><p>Domingo hoped that it wasn’t too obvious that neither he nor Emilio knew very well what he was doing; Emilio’s job was to cut the meth, not to actually make it, and Domingo didn’t recognize White’s processus.<br/>
Unfortunately, he told Emilio to get rid of his cigarette in a tone that suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world… meaning that White now in all likelihood realized how little knowledge they had of the chemicals surrounding them.<br/>
The man was moving slowly, very slowly; it was sort of normal, as after all both young men had their guns not far from his head, but now it was starting to get on Domingo’s nerves - Jesus, was he being so slow on purpose? Suddenly, he thought of another possibility (and cursed himself for having seen that sooner): what if White was waiting for someone? There were only the two of them, they didn’t have anyone watching outside of the van, it would be ridiculously easy for someone - or more than one person - to creep up on them…</p><p>“Hurry up, we ain’t got all day!”</p><p>At first, White looked like he was going to comply…</p><p>… and then, suddenly, he threw the whole content - some red powder - of the vessel he’d been holding in front of him, right in the pan.</p><p>Immediately flames sprung up, taking Domingo and Emilio by surprise, and giving the other man just enough time to run out of the van, the chemical reaction causing the two cousins to fall, before White closed the door on them. </p><p>Domingo felt like he was suffocating; he threw himself against the door, but was unable to open it, as White was putting his weight back on it, and Domingo was already feeling himself growing weak, losing his footing, having difficulty even pulling the trigger as both he and Emilio shot desperately at the door, hoping to get the man off it. </p><p>They were aiming towards the middle of the door; they were in no state for proper thinking, and could only focus on that much: the door, the exit. </p><p>Domingo was vaguely aware of Emilio imitating him, trying to stand up too, farther from the door than Domingo…</p><p>Only, Emilio stepped in a pool of some liquid that had fallen in the commotion on the floor as he was trying to get closer to the door… and slipped and ended up on his stomach.</p><p>Emilio had intended to shoot somewhere in the middle of the door, however the shot was fired while he was falling forward - resulting in the bullet going much lower than what he was aiming for… </p><p>… and a scream was heard outside, and finally the resistance against the door ceased, and Domingo instantly opened it, grabbing Emilio’s hand and getting both of them out of the van, stepping on White in the meantime, and collapsing forward, feeling very dizzy, only half conscious, and coughing nonstop.</p><p>Stumbling on the rough ground, Domingo limped away as far from the vehicle as he could, while keeping a firm grip on his cousin’s arm, dragging him away from the danger with him; at last, Domingo collapsed, Emilio next to him. </p><p>Nevertheless, they were not safe yet; White wasn’t dead, Domingo could hear groans of pain; turning around, Domingo realized that Emilio’s bullet had hit the man’s shoulder, not a vital part. </p><p>Domingo swiftly glanced around; thankfully, they were still at some distance from the road, and it was deserted all the same. </p><p>He picked up his gun and tried to fire it at White, deciding to finish off the man, the excellent meth be damned, but he had no ammunition left. And Emilio, who had been evidently much more affected by whatever toxic substance had been released, had very unluckily dropped his gun next to White. </p><p>And, as Domingo realized when the man fired it at him - and he ducked just in time - it still had some bullets. </p><p>However, the sixty years old chemistry teacher had never fired a gun at anyone before… and it was showing. </p><p>He managed to miss his opponent at every shot, until his gun was out of bullets as well. </p><p>Then Domingo jumped on White, and his hands closed around the latter’s neck, and he pressed as hard as he could.<br/>
The effects of the red stuff and the explosion had nonetheless taken away a lot of his strength, and he found himself unable to strangle his enemy.<br/>
Instead, he banged White’s head against the ground repeatedly, until the man was dead or really unconscious. </p><p>Domingo had no problem with killing, not anymore… though he didn’t take any particular pleasure in this. </p><p>After all, White was just one other, less lucky, player in this game where no one was innocent; it wasn’t personal.</p><p>It wasn’t like with Domingo’s uncle, who had nearly completely ruined them, before coming back, thinking he could just get away with it like that.<br/>
Then Domingo had gleefully stabbed him and watched him die in agony.<br/>
That murder, Alejandro’s, was one of Domingo’s most satisfying memories.<br/>
Not that anyone, except for Emilio, had ever known the truth about that. </p><p>Domingo’s shirt was now stained with White’s blood; he supposed he’d have to drive shirtless - which wasn’t the most discreet thing in the world, but better than with a blood splattered shirt.<br/>
Slowly, his breathing returned to a normal pace, although he was still coughing; he was relieved to see Emilio regaining consciousness behind him.</p><p>“You okay?” </p><p>Emilio nodded weakly, but stayed where he was, his legs not capable of bearing his weight for now. </p><p>Domingo made his way to his car and reached for one of the knives he kept inside and hurried towards White. There was no way they could keep the man alive - if he hadn’t yet died - it was far too dangerous; obviously, they weren’t going to attempt having him cook for them again, and abducting him would be an enormous risk; the police being aware that the desert was one of the cartel members’ favorite places, the odds were high that at some point they would come not too far from a cop’s car. The chances of getting actually stopped were, of course, much lower - he was stupid enough to speed or to drive badly in such a situation - but White was a big man, that wouldn’t fit in their trunk, and having him just in the back seat, where he could easily be seen if they were stuck in the middle of traffick or near a cop, would be an incredibly dumb idea.<br/>
From what Jesse had told them, no one knew White was there - so, while there would be people looking for him, there would be no reason for anyone to suspect that Domingo and Emilio had anything to do with the disappearance. </p><p>Ergo, Domingo proceeded to stab him multiple times in the neck, until his head literally rolled off. </p><p>Then he noted the fire that was growing rapidly behind the RV, surely caused by Emilio’s carelessly thrown lit cigarette; it was already too big to be contained with just a few litres of water - and they barely had some bottles. Shit, they would have to get the hell out of here really soon.</p><p>After driving his car just a little farther - leaving it there, right next to the flames, would not be smart - Domingo’s gaze stopped on Jesse Pinkman, still unconscious, resting pretty close to the fire; Domingo had little sympathy for him, but he had no reason to let him die in such a terrible way. Sighing, he hastily grabbed the idiot and dragged him away from the fire, dropping him next to Emilio.</p><p>“Okay, so now what?” Emilio asked in a small voice. </p><p>Domingo stared at the fire, which had now caught up to the RV - fuck, that was a big waste of equipment, but neither wanted to go back there. </p><p>“Do you think you left any DNA anywhere?”</p><p>Emilio pointed to the small trail of blood starting from the door of the presently burning vehicle and going all the way to where he was sitting. It came from the wounds he’d sustained during the explosion, likely from broken pieces of glass. </p><p>“You never took off your gloves, right?”<br/>
“Of course not.”<br/>
“The fire will be getting here pretty quickly… you know what, let’s just go. It will burn off the traces of blood you left - and we can untie Jesse and dumb him next to the road, doesn’t really matter… You’re sure you’re okay?”<br/>
“I’m fine.” </p><p>Thus, the two cousins gathered themselves and Jesse, drove to the road, dropped him as they’d planned - Domingo was very glad no one was coming from either direction at that moment - and drove away, not losing any more time.<br/>
They didn’t truly relax until they’d reached their shared small apartment. After cleaning up the car as well as they could, when they finally closed - and locked - the door, they collapsed on their (also shared) bed. </p><p>They kissed (nope, it didn’t bother them that they were cousins - they were consenting adults and couldn’t get pregnant), and, both too tired for further actions, promptly fell asleep in each other’s arms. Tomorrow they’d see a doctor secretly for potential other effects of that red substance and the chemical reaction, and they’d deal with the possible consequences of what had just gone down, together - though it seemed that things would be fine. </p><p>Mentally, Domingo celebrated the fact that he was now done with his role as a snitch; hopefully Goodman could get Emilio out of trouble quickly, and then they’d be back to their usual routine. </p><p> </p><p>Damn though, this could have ended really badly for them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So that’s it for the first way of how Walter White could’ve died. As for what happens to Jesse here, let’s say he wakes up quickly - albeit with a nasty headache - and runs away before the fire is noticed and the firemen are called; he ends up at the hospital - he must have a concussion or something after being knocked unconscious - and hopes he’s never linked to that whole affair.<br/>By the way, sorry if this fanfic sounded a bit like Jesse bashing - it wasn’t, not really, because this is entirely from Domingo’s perspective. I know that in the show Jesse’s parents, even though they’re not abusive, are assholes, but here Domingo’s had much worse problems, so he cannot understand that Jesse’s struggles are real, even though they’re not much compared to Domingo’s.<br/>And yeah, I know that Walter is actually fifty years old, and not sixty, but Domingo doesn’t know that, and Jesse also thought Walter was sixty.</p><p>The characters in the tags that weren’t there will come in the next chapters, btw.<br/>Thanks for reading, and tell me what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. There is no more hot water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Usually, one does not die from running out of hot water in their shower.<br/>However, Walter is different.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger warning: mentions of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).<br/>I don’t know if in the series they ever said anything about Walter’s neighbours (I think we saw once or twice the neighbours on the right side, and it was couple of like two people in their sixties, but except that, I don’t remember anything), so I’ll just be making it up here.<br/>Oh, and perhaps I should mention that there’s more gore in this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When they’d heard the news, it hadn’t been a big surprise. Lately he had been particularly unpredictable and aggressive, incapable of spending a single day without giving someone a beating. While his brutality had solidified his position as the boss of the region’s drug dealers as well as the whole family’s reputation of being one of those no one wanted to mess with, it had also greatly increased the risks of the police obtaining actual evidence of his numerous crimes and going after him - and they knew he’d rather die than end up in jail again.</p><p>However, that didn’t mean that the twins weren’t upset about Tuco’s death - they were, in fact, furious; they just weren’t the sort who would allow themselves to display any strong emotions publicly.<br/>
Besides, now wasn’t the time to grieve for him. They’d properly mourn his death only after having avenged him. That was definitely what he would want - and the Salamancas had made a vow to always - always - avenge the death of a family member.<br/>
Leonel and Marco knew that going after a DEA agent - that was who had shot and killed Tuco - was not recommended at all; it would bring far too much police attention on them; in addition, those people, naturally, had had training to face this kind of possibility, and getting them in a place where they could deal with them would not be easy.<br/>
The thing was, even though it was a DEA agent who had shot the bullet that had killed Tuco, there had been two other people closely involved in his death - some random low level drug dealer, who was simply following orders, named Jesse Pinkman, and the meth producer, known in the criminal world as Heisenberg, his real name being, as Hector had just spelled out, Walter White.<br/>
The latter was their current target and, having found his address, they were on their way to making him discover the consequences of fucking with the Salamancas. They weren’t planning to merely end his life - no, he was going to suffer, and he’d have the time to understand why this was happening, perhaps even the time to beg.<br/>
It was a shame that White didn’t live in a more isolated area, because the location of his house meant that Leonel and Marco couldn’t make it last too long, either. </p><p>Even though neither neighbour would be there - yes, they had checked; the old Bailey couple (at the right side of White’s house) were not there, probably on a trip; both of the Carters (left side) would be at work when the twins planned to arrive; same went for the entire Nguyen family (facing the White residence); the elderly Dixon woman living by herself (front right) was nearly deaf and was very unlikely to hear anything coming as far away as across the street and separated by two walls; the house at the left of the Nguyen’s was uninhabited at the moment (front left) - someone would certainly hear something quite quickly, and Joey, the young woman who had verified the information for each neighbour, as good at her job as she was, couldn’t do the same for every house on the street.<br/>
Joey was a good-looking blonde woman in her late twenties who played a very important role in the various operations undertaken by the Salamanca family because she easily went unnoticed, was especially attentive to her surroundings, had an excellent memory, had impressive hacking skills, and had siblings whose job was very useful to the cartel: her younger brother was an electrician, her younger sister worked for a phone company, her older brother was a mailman in a… well, significant region, and her older sister was the receptionist of the Salamanca’s and their associates’ favorite hotel.<br/>
Therefore, the twins had sent her beforehand to discover what exactly was the situation around their target’s house; she had noted during the previous week the neighbours’ habits - more precisely, the times where they were likely to be absent from their home - and had gone around knocking at their door, pretending to be selling something, wearing a wig, not looking out of place. Then, she’d asked her younger sister about what could get regarding how the neighbours used their phone, and with that, they’d collected those pieces of information.<br/>
This said, their preparations didn’t stop there: Joey and two others of their employees would also be around when they came to commit the murder, and would call them if they saw any cop getting closer. </p><p> </p><p>Thus, Leonel and Marco - the latter now being the driver - were on the road, in their usual silence; they only spoke more than the strict necessary in private, while in public they didn’t see the point of saying anything useless. Staying quiet helped them think and focus on what they intended on doing; starting a conversation with anyone else would be distracting, and they knew that they were more intimidating without saying a word. Furthermore, giving away anything about themselves could be later used against them. </p><p>When they’d heard about the death of Tuco’s two regular bodyguards - No-Doze and Gonzo, the former having been killed in a sudden flare of anger by Tuco himself - they’d deduced quickly that he was then alone with Hector. </p><p>Normally, they’d have been glad to know that Tuco wasn’t completely on his own: he needed to have someone to talk to (even if his conversations were now almost exclusively bragging about his latest misdeeds, and the similar things he was planning to do, or wished he could), otherwise it would just worsen the mess that was in his head. </p><p>However, for once, it would have been better if Tuco had been alone instead of with their disabled uncle only. They weren’t worried about him hurting Hector - Salamancas never hurt each other without a good reason, and no matter how much his mental health had deteriorated, Tuco still remembered that - it was just that he no longer felt comfortable with Hector. Indeed, he couldn’t be as honest with his own uncle than he was with his “employees” or his “friends”.<br/>
For example, the twins knew very well that Tuco was bisexual. The majority of the Salamanca family were past silly prejudices like homophobia, but not Hector. In fact, their uncle had such an obvious disgust of homosexuals that it seemed that the possibility of any Salamanca being attracted to someone of the same gender had never even occurred to him - while, statistically speaking, there should be at least two Salamancas that were gay or bisexual.<br/>
Ironically enough, it had turned out that no less than half of the younger generation of the family were interested in people of the same gender.<br/>
Which was why, before he became wheelchair-bound, when Hector had openly laughed at a subordinate when the latter had discovered his son was gay, there had been an uneasy silence among the rest of the Salamanca family - which Hector had been completely oblivious to. </p><p>But it wasn’t just that secret that was kept from Hector that had created a certain separation between him and Tuco; there was also Tuco’s feeling that his uncle was judging him for not being strong enough as, when he’d been sent to jail, he’d gotten nearly killed many times - and now Tuco suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, often unable to sleep or plainly trying not to because when he did, he constantly had nightmares, and consequently was very tired, and frequently snorted meth to give himself more energy.<br/>
Hector didn’t know about any of that, yet Tuco had the sensation that his uncle could see that he was, in some way, weaker now. </p><p>Leonel and Marco had done their best to get him off meth, at first not understanding why Tuco felt like he needed it so badly… but then, they’d heard from one of their dealers who had been to the same jail that Tuco had been very unlucky, because he’d gotten stuck with a bunch of people who had a deep hatred of the Salamancas, his only ally nearby being this guy, “Skinny Pete”, who couldn’t do much against no less than sixteen opponents. As a result, Tuco had received numerous beatings, many having sent him on the on the brink of death; would have been poisoned if Pete hadn’t told him that he’d noticed that the food Tuco had picked seemed to have been suspiciously destined especially for him, and had sometimes had to steal other people’s food if he thought there was something wrong with his, which of course had earned him new enemies; had almost been hanged after being knocked out, and would have been if Pete hadn’t caught him in time; had spent an enormous quantity of time just running around to flee from prisoners who were far too many for him to take on and who were determined to kill him…<br/>
Thus, after finally leaving jail, Tuco had still been shaken from all of his misadventures, and had suffered from sudden flashbacks.<br/>
The twins were the only ones who could do anything to help Tuco since Lalo was gone; he trusted no one else enough to let them see his personal issues. And even then, he’d been extremely reluctant to tell them; they’d had to insist a lot, and to promise him they wouldn’t say a word of it to anyone else, ever. Any sort of mental condition was seen by the elder Salamanca generations - particularly Hector - as a sign of weakness. </p><p>In the middle of several nights, Tuco had only been able to sleep in Leonel or Marco’s arms - which he was terribly ashamed of, even though they’d assured him that they didn’t mind, that no one would know, that no one was there to judge them, that everyone had their problems. </p><p>Naturally, now all of those who had attacked Tuco in jail were dead - they’d all been killed in revenge one by one, in jail or outside of it, by Tuco, Leonel, Marco, and trusted hitmen, and their deaths had not been fast, to say the least. Pete was rewarded for having helped Tuco - and actually saved his life quite a few times - but had also been warned to not let anyone know how much Tuco had suffered in jail, leaving others to wonder how the fuck Pete had even survived sharing a cell with him.</p><p>Ergo, when the twins had been forced to go back to Mexico to take care of business, they’d been quite worried about Tuco, and had hurried through their deals so that they could return to the US to be with him… only, they’d been too late. </p><p>They’d known that between his PTSD and his already unstable mental health (which he’d inherited from his long dead mother), his demise had been getting closer and closer… but it had still felt like an important blow to them. Leonel and Marco might be quite different from Tuco, nevertheless they’d also enjoyed his company and his insane rambles, so he would definitely be missed. </p><p> </p><p>But first: revenge. </p><p> </p><p>Walter White was taking a shower, needing to get the dust off himself from having crawled underneath the house as Skyler had changed the locks, actually wanting to forbid him from going in his own house.<br/>
Well, that was just not happening.<br/>
This was his house, he lived there too, he had the right to stay in the same house as his son, and, especially, he was the one who paid the entire fucking bills with the money he’d made from producing meth.<br/>
Not that Skyler knew that last part.<br/>
One thing he was very worried about was the possibility of his wife - well, soon to be ex-wife, if things continued to go in that direction - telling his son about his, err, peculiar activities.<br/>
Surely she wouldn’t be this stupid?<br/>
But he wasn’t so sure… now that he no longer felt as much love as he used to for her, he was starting to think that perhaps Skyler wasn’t such an intelligent person. And she was… emotive, overly so in his opinion, so no, he absolutely couldn’t be certain that she’d stay quiet… which was one hell of a problem. While he cared about her well-being and especially the well-being of Walter Junior (he liked to resume calling him by the name he’d been given at birth instead of that name Skyler now preferred, Flynn), he had little doubts that his boss, Gustavo Fring, did not. </p><p>If only she could see things from his point of view; if only she could understand that it was for the good of the whole family! What was he supposed to do, just leave them buried in debts after dying pathetically of cancer? No, he could never do that! Of course, he could have also… well, hastened to die to avoid the debts and leave Skyler and Walter Junior with the money he’d earned as a teacher, but he simply wasn’t ready to die - not without having truly lived, anyway.<br/>
A voice kept nagging him, telling him that it was his own fault that his life was so boring, that he wasn’t a good father, that he could’ve just made an effort to do more enjoyable things, that he didn’t need to start cooking meth… however, he promptly made that voice shut up.<br/>
His choice was made, and there was no going back.<br/>
He could no longer accept Gretchen and Elliot’s offer, either - not that he’d truly wanted to when they’d first discussed it; the only thing he could think of was how they’d backstabbed him, abandoned him as they got rich thanks to his own work and left him nothing. And then, when all of a sudden they needed him again, they thought he would merely forget about their betrayal and go help them preserve their fortune? No fucking way.<br/>
He hated these two. Those two hypocrites, who’d faked being concerned about his health, as if they gave a single shit, which they’d proven they didn’t when they’d ditched him and stolen the credits for the work that was his…<br/>
Did everyone really have such a low opinion of him? Did they all see him like that, as such a loser?<br/>
He remembered Hank’s comments about him, in front of his own son… his brother-in-law had literally told him that he wasn’t a real man and, on a separate occasion, that he needed to stop being a pussy… and Walter Junior had laughed.<br/>
He’d been laughing a little less when he’d puked into the pool.<br/>
Walter couldn’t help but think that he had it, coming, sort of… for liking Hank better than his own father. He could see again how Hank had tried to stop him from filling his son’s cup again, as if it was any of Hank’s business, as if Junior was his son… </p><p>Then he thought about his other life. His other “self”. How people looked at him during those moments, how different it was…<br/>
He wouldn’t - couldn’t - stop. This was what he truly enjoyed. </p><p>And really, Skyler’s refusal to understand him was uncalled for. They currently lived comfortably because of him; that money she was using to buy stuff she liked, it came directly from that side-business of his she complained about!<br/>
Maybe he should tell her that fact.<br/>
Maybe it would change her opinion.<br/>
The reason why he hadn’t was that it would then reveal how big this was… and she already knew more than she should, so, no, he wouldn’t tell her even more. </p><p>Anyway, her worries were for nothing; they were all safe at the moment, right? </p><p> </p><p>If there had been any more hot water in the shower, he would’ve stayed a few more minutes pondering his situation and ranting to himself about Skyler’s behaviour. </p><p>Alas, the water abruptly became cold - it seemed that having the dishwasher and the washing machine run at the same time while one was taking a hot shower resulted in the said shower running out of hot water. </p><p>Walter leaped out of the shower and turned it off, swearing - he wished he could’ve stayed in longer but well, anyway, he was done. He was about to walk out with just his towel wrapped around himself, however he realized that, as he wasn’t supposed to be there, he’d maybe have to hurry up - and he did not want to have to run around only in his towel, yikes.<br/>
Therefore, he hastily got dressed - too bad if his clothes would be somewhat moist - and opened the door, lost in his thoughts, looking down at his phone...</p><p>...and then he ran into someone. </p><p>“Shit, Skyler, I-”</p><p>It wasn’t her. </p><p>Two men wearing rather elegant suits and silver boots were staring at him. </p><p>They didn’t look friendly. </p><p>“What-”</p><p>Then he saw the axe one was holding. </p><p>He felt as if his heart had missed a beat. </p><p>He didn’t have any time to attempt to escape his fate, as the other one grabbed him and pushed him brutally on the floor, while the other stuck the axe in his leg. </p><p>Walter screamed louder than he ever had before as his blood began flooding the carpet - and he thought, irrationally, that Skyler wouldn’t be happy about the mess - and tugged vainly on the axe, trying to pull it out, the pain already radiating through his entire body. </p><p>“Do you know why we’re here?”</p><p>“I - no - I - please -”</p><p>“Our cousin Tuco died because of you. You betrayed him.”</p><p>Oh shit, shit, shit. </p><p>“No, no, I didn’t - aaaah!”</p><p>He’d pulled out the axe, causing Walter’s blood to rise like water from a fountain before splashing down. </p><p>Oh God, why didn’t he have a gun nearby? Hell, any kind of weapon? What kind of drug lord didn’t have a gun in his own bedroom? </p><p>Fuck, was that what Skyler had been talking about when she’d told him it was dangerous for the whole family? No, no, that wasn’t the way things were supposed to go, he would make it right, he would- </p><p>Again pain overwhelmed him as the axe went into his other leg, before also being removed, leaving another gaping wound from which blood was pouring as well. </p><p>He’d known the danger, of course he had, hell, he’d already been almost killed quite a few times, but in his own house, he’d thought he could keep them away - </p><p>Yet he’d been wrong: he didn’t have two separate identities, not for those people anyway.<br/>
He only had one: an enemy of the cartel.<br/>
They didn’t care if he was almost two different people; they would come after him no matter if he was Heisenberg or if he was just spending time with his family as the ordinary Walter White; there were no “days off” for them.<br/>
When one “enters” that type of business, if one had any lovers, friends or relatives, they’d be dragged into the danger too…</p><p>Despite everything, despite knowing that his wife or his son, whom he truly loved, was probably going to stumble across what would be left of him, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.<br/>
It was too late now regardless; he could do nothing but hope that no one would hurt his family.</p><p>He imagined what Hank’s reaction would be when he figured out the circumstances of his death - because he was sure his brother-in-law would find out; Hank was good enough at his job for that - and Walter really wanted to laugh.<br/>
Too bad he wouldn’t be there to see it…</p><p>There was a general assumption that one would get to see the most important moments of their lives right before they died; it wasn’t Walter’s case.</p><p>However, he did have one realization: he cared more about his ego than about his family.</p><p>And then the axe went down on his neck. A flash of red, a distorted image of his two killers staring down at him, the sensation of leaving, and then he was no more. </p><p> </p><p>Marco had heard his phone beeping, and had assumed that he’d received a text from Joey or one of the others warning them of the imminent arrival of cops; fuck, they’d estimated they’d get more time than that. Apparently not; thus they finished off Walter White, his screams stopping all at once, and quickly took off the raincoat-like long jacket that they’d each put on on top of their suit and stuffed it inside of the bag each had brought; then they hurried to the front door and, not seeing any immediate danger, jumped into their car and left.<br/>
They were feeling a lot better than when they’d first entered - the great satisfaction of having accomplished their revenge. At least Tuco could mostly rest in peace now - they knew that they had no choice but to leave the DEA agent who’d pulled the trigger alone, as killing off a policeman would bring a too big shitstorm on them, which was frustrating, however they could be happy that they’d gotten rid of the one who’d betrayed their cousin.<br/>
This time Leonel was driving, while Marco noticed that he’d received one more text little after their departure; that one was from Joey, telling them the police would be there soon.</p><p>The first one, however, was from Gustavo Fring.</p><p>Well. </p><p>Too late.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one was obligatory in the list of ways Walter could’ve died lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Two dings is for no instead of none</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One of Walter and Jesse’s adventures end badly for them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s note: Warning: Hector’s POV is pretty depressing.<br/>Since I know that not everyone has watched Better Call Saul, I won’t go into details about how he was paralyzed.<br/>Some details - like how Tuco kidnapped Jesse and Walter - don’t match canon, but otherwise the fight would be over too quickly.<br/>Oh, and Jesse dies as well in this one, my bad.<br/>By the way - as I’m sure this will very quickly become obvious - I have no idea how nursing homes work. I really hope that they’re much, much better than what I made up in this fanfiction!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hector Salamanca had been stuck in his wheelchair for six years now, unable to do anything (not even talking) except moving one single finger. Well, when he made a colossal, exhausting and painful effort, he could use his arms a little bit, either for slow and small stirrings, or for spasmodic, poorly-controlled, imprecise movements.<br/>
That was it. That was all he could do. He, who used to be one of the biggest and most feared drug lords of Mexico, was presently totally helpless, rendered inoffensive by his disability, not even capable to take his own fucking shower alone. </p><p>It was beyond humiliating, especially as the person who came to see him the most frequently, outside of the nurses, was his very worse enemy, Gustavo Fring, that fucking animal.<br/>
Nearly every week that son of a bitch waltzed up to remind Hector of how pathetic his situation was - and to pour salt in his wounds, by noticing how few visitors he actually had, and how he never seemed to have received anything.<br/>
Hector simply thought that, the entire Salamanca family being in the same business, it went without saying that they were all very busy, and couldn’t hang out too often in a public place where everyone knew they would go and where any opponent could basically walk in just as easily as the Chilean.<br/>
Because the so-called security of this nursing home was absolute shit. A joke, really.<br/>
In theory, everyone who entered the building had to check in with the receptionist, identify themselves and state who they were visiting, and the employees were supposed to keep an eye open for anyone who shouldn’t be there, as elderly people, particularly the ones who were here, were extremely vulnerable.<br/>
However, it appeared that every single individual working here was even blinder than some of the patients, as Fring - often accompanied by at least one bodyguard with, surely, others waiting outside - had never had any difficulties making his way to where Hector sat miserably, hating his life, and always hoping desperately for a family member to come to see him… which had not happened for months. </p><p>He refused to listen to the poison that was Fring’s words and wouldn't believe that it was because nobody gave a shit about him and that the Salamancas did not sincerely think that La familia es todo. No, he knew his own family better than his enemy did! He had himself taught them about it! </p><p>Fring had remarked with a nasty smile that nearly drowning one of his nephews and scaring the hell out of another one, resulting in the little boy having to hit his own uncle to save his twin brother, was not actually a good way to show that his family meant everything to him - and that even most of the other people in his business would be horrified by this kind of treatment. </p><p>Hector had had to think for a moment to figure out how the hell Fring had gotten his hand on that piece of information - it certainly couldn’t come from Leonel or Marco themselves, as they never revealed anything about themselves if they didn’t have to, and they definitely weren’t the kind who got drunk and started talking carelessly.<br/>
Then, Hector had remembered that once he had drunk too much and told more than he intended to about his family to Eladio; when he’d described to him how exactly he’d thought the twins to care about their family, the other man had started laughing, and Hector had realized that Eladio thought he was joking.<br/>
Well, what would he know about it? He didn’t even have any kids! Besides, there had often been some friction between Hector and Eladio, a sort of mutual wariness, especially as Hector felt that Eladio didn’t respect him enough. It had gotten worse after Eladio had started preferring Juan Bolsa’s company over Hector’s - even after Bolsa had had “some difficulties” with his business (which, of course, had been Hector’s doing, indirectly). </p><p>Fring had then said:<br/>
“You may have taught Leonel and Marco to care about each other. But only because they realized that you didn’t care about their well-being, and that they had to protect each other from you. You actually taught them the opposite of what you meant, Hector: that they could not trust their own family to not hurt them. And now you wonder why they’re not coming to see you?” </p><p>Hector, boiling with fury but unable to do anything, had only told himself over and over again that it wasn’t true, that the twins were just far too busy, and that it was too much of a risk for them to show up here… </p><p> </p><p>As he had nothing to do for very long stretches of time, he had thought a lot about his predicament… and had reached some conclusions which he had not realized before. </p><p>Fring was actually even more responsible for Hector’s misery than Hector had originally believed; as, literally, not a single Salamanca had enough money that truly appeared to be legitimate to pay for the treatment, when already the police were looking at them, someone else had had to pay for it - and that had been Gustavo Fring.<br/>
Only, Fring had allowed Hector to be healed just enough to be able to think clearly, to know and feel what was happening to him, to remember everything and to still loathe Fring.<br/>
Once that had been achieved, he’d cut off Hector’s treatment, thereby taking away from Hector any chance of ever recovering any more physical mobility.<br/>
He hated Fring with a hatred stronger than what he’d thought was even possible. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Hector wondered if death wasn’t preferable to his current state… now that he knew, as an undeniable fact, that he would never get better. He was so weak, it wouldn’t be so difficult if he really wanted to… perhaps he could just refuse to eat. They’d maybe try to force him at first, but at some point they’d have to give up. Hell, it was even possible that one of those nurses would be happy for him that he’d finally stopped suffering. </p><p>One morning he had indeed almost died - at least, that was what it had felt like to him.<br/>
He had been dreaming that he was back at one of his houses with the entire family, at a time where all of his nephews were still kids; in that dream, he had no disability, and wasn’t even thinking about it. He was celebrating the marriage of his daughter Gabi with the imaginary son of Eladio, with whom he was still friends, Fring (and Bolsa) fully absent from the dream, and hugged his daughter after she finalized her marriage. </p><p>And then Hector had woken up.<br/>
The feeling of disenchantment had been so strong that he had really believed his heart would just stop beating for good, at last.<br/>
Yet, he’d survived.<br/>
At least, Fring hadn’t been there to see him cry.</p><p>Gabi had been killed in her mid-twenties by being hit by three bullets directly in the head; at least, since it had happened very suddenly, without any sort of fight, she hadn’t suffered. She had passed away, in fact, most likely without having any time to even realize something was wrong - the first bullet had killed her instantly. Apparently, the shooter had been quite far away.<br/>
They’d never been able to figure out who had done it - they’d found neither the shooter, nor his boss, if he had any. Hector was craving to avenge her, and had quickly come up with the most terrifying possible punishments for the guilty party…<br/>
Only, he had absolutely no idea who should receive what he’d planned. It could have been an incredibly large number of people, and any attacks could have enormous consequences, as the tensions were particularly high. </p><p> </p><p>Hector also spent a lot of time watching other patients open gifts and read cards that had been sent by family members… and it made him want to hit them. He detested hearing their joy; it only made Fring’s words about the Salamancas seem true, which Hector would never accept. </p><p>Well, actually, Hector had received something… once. </p><p>One of the nurses had walked towards him with a small box that had apparently been posted to the nursing home; he’d been, of course, quite taken aback, because letters and gifts were simply not at all the style of his family. It was the kind of gesture that he used to laugh at, but he’d become so desperate that he’d been hopeful when that box had been brought to him.</p><p>Inside of it, there had been a card and another box; the nurse had shown him the letter, which was one of those cheap letters anyone could buy for less than one dollar at plenty of places. Inside was written, with a pathetic drawing of a happy-looking family: “We’re all for you, we love you!”<br/>
As soon as the envelope had been opened in front of him, Hector had known that this did not come from anyone who truly wished him any good. No Salamanca would ever send something like that, and who could he have, who really cared about him, outside of his family? </p><p>No, that had been a mockery, very much intentionally. The small signature of a single letter at the bottom of the letter had made it clear: B.<br/>
B for Bolsa.<br/>
The box had contained a plastic cricket; the nurse had seemed surprised, wondering what this was all about, but Hector had understood the message perfectly. </p><p>Juan Bolsa was making fun of him, the cricket being a reference to how nobody visited him. </p><p> </p><p>The only person that seemed to have truly made an effort to help Hector was his nephew Lalo - not only had he brought him the bell that Hector now used to communicate, he’d also suggested that they learn Morse code, and had promised that he would come back to teach Hector.</p><p>That had been the last time Hector had ever seen Lalo.<br/>
He had never returned.<br/>
And nobody knew what had happened to him.<br/>
Lalo had vanished without leaving any trace. </p><p>However, Lalo’s visits, as few as they were, had been of a great help to Hector: while, of course, nobody had enough time to teach him Morse, some of the nurses had at least remembered one of his nephew’s suggestions: that two dings should mean “no” instead of none. The reason for that was simple: if Hector was being asked a question and his answer was “no”, how would whoever was talking to him know if he’d understood - or even heard - the question, if he didn’t do anything when the answer was “no”.<br/>
Thus, it now went like this:<br/>
One ding: yes<br/>
Two dings: no<br/>
Three dings: I don’t know<br/>
Four dings: I need help<br/>
Five dings: never mind. </p><p> </p><p>When Hector had finally - finally! - been brought to that house in the desert by Tuco’s men, it had been an enormous relief; he had at last returned to an environment in which he felt comfortable and in which his tastes were, needless to say, understood a lot better. Tuco’s employees also took care of him better than the staff of the nursing home did; among them, there were two nurses who gave him all of their attention and took the time to allow him to spell out whatever he wanted to say by pointing to him the letters on a board.<br/>
Plus, here Hector was actually still respected - albeit that was uniquely because everyone was terrified of Tuco -, was told what was going, and sometimes they even asked his opinion.<br/>
It had disappointed him a little that it had taken two weeks for Tuco to show up himself; he would’ve loved to have his nephew waiting for him at that new place. However, he had to be realistic: Tuco had many things to do, and there was no reason for him to go see his uncle immediately. </p><p>Tuco had never been one of Hector’s favorites in the family; he had inherited his mother’s mental instability, but unfortunately not his father (Hector’s brother)’s intelligence. He held practically no regards for traditions and hadn’t listened often to Hector, which had particularly offended the latter.</p><p>In spite of that, Hector was overjoyed that at length he had a fellow Salamanca nearby; he had missed them terribly during his exceedingly long stay at the nursing home. He recognized many of the family’s traits in Tuco, even though he didn’t necessarily have the best ones. </p><p>Yet he could distinctly sense a change in his nephew - one that Hector much disliked. </p><p>Tuco occasionally looked like he was losing control of himself, especially when he woke up in the middle of the night, frequently even with a scream that also cut short Hector’s sleep, and then paced around the house with tangible nervousness, despite the fact that nothing had happened. </p><p> </p><p>And then, one day, Tuco’s men who were as usual wandering around the house abruptly decided, for reasons unknown to Hector, to run away, taking whatever could be used as a weapon from the place with them… from the fragments of conversation that Hector heard, Tuco would soon be coming here, with Gonzo, and Tuco was enraged about something… and nobody wanted to be around when Hector’s nephew was like that. To make matters worse, there had been rumors that the cops were coming… which made Hector a lot more anxious; alas, there was still nothing he could do to warn Tuco; he could only pray that if the police was indeed making their way here, Tuco would notice them in time to drive away and not be seen, without trying to help Hector - it wasn’t like Hector really had anything to fear from the authorities anymore, as he was paralyzed and unable to talk, and could just pretend to be senile, or be bluntly completely uncooperative - and that if his nephew arrived before the cops did, Hector would have enough time to warn him. </p><p>Tuco barged into the house in a state of very visible agitation, without his usual two bodyguards but dragging two other people - a man in his late fifties named Walter, and a man in his twenties called Jesse - into the room where Hector was sitting, watching shamelessly hot women on TV. </p><p>Tuco had obviously had to leave wherever he was urgently, as he didn’t even have any weapon… it seemed that he’d escaped the police, some time before or afterwards picking up those two - and stealing the car of one of them, as Hector didn’t recognize the vehicle; it most likely belonged to Jesse -, to “talk”, and driven too fast for either to jump off the car. </p><p>Which created a pretty tense situation - they had the advantage of being two, while Tuco was on his own (as Hector of course could not help him at all in any potential fight),</p><p>He ranted in front of both of the… “guests” about how Gonzo had apparently betrayed him, as the bodyguard hadn’t come back. </p><p>Managing to somewhat calm down, Tuco decided to eat with the two people he’d brought by force to the room… and, when he went into the kitchen to get something, Walter, who was evidently the boss, slid a substance that Hector had no doubt was poison into his nephew’s plate, mistakenly assuming that Hector was completely senile. </p><p>Tuco returned to the table, sat down, and was about to begin eating when Hector rang his bell twice, with as much energy as he could, wanting Tuco to realize that it was important.<br/>
His nephew looked up at once, surprised. </p><p>“No? No what?” </p><p>Of course, Hector could not answer; he instead stared at the food, hoping that Tuco would somehow get the message.<br/>
He did not. </p><p>Walter said, shakily - God, he was a bad liar -: </p><p>“Oh, I think that he’s upset because we, uh, changed the channel on the TV… he was watching this other thing, he seemed to really like it… we can change it back…” </p><p>The young stupid-looking man agreed with him, but, thankfully, Tuco was not convinced.</p><p>“Is it true, uncle?” </p><p>Two dings. No.</p><p>Tuco’s expression became even more menacing as he glared at the two people who were squirming on the sofa, seemingly wishing they were anywhere but here. </p><p>“Then what’s wrong? You think I should trust them, or not?”</p><p>Two dings. </p><p>“Why? Did they… did they do something?”</p><p>One ding. </p><p>The “guests” appeared to have comprehended how Hector communicated with his nephew and were sweating abundantly, surveying quickly their surroundings, without finding anything close enough for them to use. </p><p>Slowly, Tuco’s gaze followed Hector’s… straight to Tuco’s food. </p><p>The mild wind outside could clearly be heard in the subsequent silence. </p><p>“Did they… did they put something in my food?” </p><p>One ding. </p><p>Walter and Jesse froze in horror… before both leaping out, each on one side, the younger one reaching for the exit, the older one intending to tackle Tuco.</p><p>Unfortunately for the two men, Tuco acted more quickly, instantaneously grabbing the closest leg of the table, at his left, ramming it into Walter; Tuco had not had the chance of gaining much momentum, but his strength was enough to send his opponent crashing on the floor, with all the dishes splintering down. Dropping the table, Tuco promptly punched him and wrapped his hands around Walter's neck, starting to strangle him.</p><p>Jesse, who’d gotten out of the room, looked back and saw his partner’s situation; apparently, he cared about the older man, as he ran back into the room and kicked Tuco in the back with all of his strengths; Tuco fell over Walter, yet he did not let go of him. Walter’s face was beginning to turn blue as Jesse tried everything to get Tuco to release his “boss”, kicking and punching Tuco, trying to scratch him with his nails, and then biting the back of his neck. </p><p>That got a reaction from Tuco; he screamed and kicked Jesse off him, but the movement had made Tuco’s grip on Walter’s neck weaken, and the man was able to breathe a trifle, coughing loudly in Tuco’s shoulder, a bit of blood splattering on Tuco’s shirt. Walter attempted to hit him, however his arm was feeble and it had practically no effect on the Salamanca. </p><p>They’d been so focused on each other’s moves that they’d failed to notice the sharp pieces of dishes and glasses all over the ground that could very well be used as weapons.<br/>
Jesse, who’d landed rather brutally on his back as a result of being kicked by Tuco, was the first to see it; he grabbed a fragment of a broken plate and was about to plant it in Tuco’s neck when the latter’s elbow hit him in the face, causing Jesse to drop his improvised weapon.<br/>
Then, Tuco reached for the multitude of sharp morsels of dishes and glasses and slammed one into Walter’s neck; the man howled in pain, prompting his younger associate to become desperate and, with frenzied movements, pick up other shards of glass; Tuco, who’d presently let go of Walter, did the same and he and Jesse stabbed each with the small but extremely pointy chips. </p><p>The fight came to end when Jesse collapsed; his veins on one arm having been deeply slashed, he was rapidly losing blood. Walter, meanwhile, was choking on his own blood; the segment of glass that had been stuck into his neck had fallen off, but now the blood was flowing freely, and Walter’s energy was being drained away. The two partners were visibly on the verge of death; Tuco was also injured, however his wounds were less severe.<br/>
At last, Tuco stumbled away, breathing with difficulties as well; his two enemies made a few last vain attempts at getting back to him, but it was over for them.</p><p>Walter’s choking was slowing down as he gradually stopped resisting, and then he stilled. </p><p>Jesse was clearly not in as much pain as his partner had been, however he could not survive either, having lost too much blood.<br/>
While Tuco was pulling out the pieces shards still in his skin, and wrapping bandages over his wounds to save himself from serious blood loss, Jesse calmly lied down; it didn’t look like his body was hurting him much anymore, nevertheless there were tears running down his cheeks as he stared at Walter’s dead body.<br/>
Hector heard the young man whisper at his fallen friend - as they had visibly really been friends -: “I’ll see you in hell, bitch…” with a sort of very weak smile, before he became still and the life left his blue eyes. </p><p>Hector would have grimaced if he could have; he found this type of display of emotions quite pathetic. At the moment, however, he was more concerned by his nephew’s health; there were no doctors around, and while it didn’t look urgent, it was pretty obvious that Tuco would need medical help. </p><p>Unfortunately, Tuco did not have much time to rest, as he and his uncle heard a car arriving and saw from the window that it was the police.</p><p>Shit, Hector thought, fucking shit! </p><p>What are you waiting for, he wanted to tell his nephew, get the hell out of here! Why was Tuco not hurrying up to leave?</p><p>But then, Hector realized that there was only one cop. What? If this had happened to him before he was paralyzed, Hector would have been awfully insulted - did the police really believe that one of their guys would be able to take down someone like him? </p><p>Unless the officer was here for a different reason… and, yes, as he caught sight of Jesse’s car, an expression of victory appeared on the bald man’s face. </p><p>He was armed, and was holding a gun, yet he didn’t look like he truly intended to shoot - Jesse was probably not the kind that would need to be shot to be taken down by the police. </p><p>Hector stared at Tuco; even though this cop wasn’t looking for him, he had to leave. And there was obviously no time to hide the bodies… and, shit, Tuco’s DNA would be there too, and as he’d already gone to jail, the police did have it in their database… he really needed to hurry up! </p><p>Tuco had understood that much, from the way he surveyed the double murder scene; he turned to his uncle and asked quietly: </p><p>“Uncle? I have to go… I won’t be able to take you with me. Will you… will you be fine?” </p><p>One ding. </p><p>“We’ll come back for you. I promise.”</p><p>And then Tuco left, Hector’s eyes following him until he couldn’t see his nephew anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So that was the third way in which Walter White could have died! I have some ideas for the following chapters; I like writing about this! </p><p>Please tell me what you think and be honest; if it’s boring, you can tell me, I just want to know if anyone’s interested into this fanfiction or not. </p><p>Thanks!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Gale answers the phone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Walter’s plan fails. <br/>Walter dies. <br/>Gale lives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: This one ends in a REALLY cruel way for Walter. There’s nothing sexual, but there is brutal torture, so yeah, I thought I should put this warning.<br/>Oh and Jesse also dies in this one, although, unlike Walter’s, Jesse’s death is pretty quick and painless.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Gale was singing happily, trying to get the Chinese lyrics right, while preparing his supper; he wasn’t exactly dancing, but he was making movements in accordance with the rhythm of the music. He was alone in his apartment - at last, he had a place of his own! - therefore he didn’t need to feel self-conscious or to worry about looking ridiculous. <br/>Of course, he knew that there was almost always someone watching nearby outside - it could be Victor, Tyrus, Mike, Sally or Leonie - and that whenever he went out, he wasn’t often completely by himself; at the beginning, it had bothered him - not that he’d complained about it; he was well aware that this would be one of the necessary downsides of his new illegal occupation, ergo he’d simply accepted it - however, gradually, he’d gotten used to it. <br/>In fact, all five of the people who could possibly be following him around were very discreet; he never saw them and, if it wasn’t for the occasions on which one of them saved him, he would’ve doubted if they were there at all. </p><p>His phone ringing interrupted his singing - Mr. Fring and all of Gale’s “bodyguards” had told him, repeatedly, that it was very important that he left the phone he used to correspond with them on, and on ring mode -, thus he turned off the music at once and answered the phone. </p><p>“Someone is coming to kill you. Leave your place immediately, take your car and come to the lab directly!”</p><p>It was Mike, and he was speaking in Thai - a language that Mr. Fring and his five closest employees, along with Gale, could speak and write. None of them had ever gone there, nor did they actually have any Thai family member, but the idea was to have a common language that they could use to communicate and that other people would likely not understand right away. The Thai language had been chosen because it was particularly different from English and because it was not commonly spoken at all where they were. </p><p>Gale was not well versed in criminal operations; he was really only the chemist, he was never asked to do anything violent, and had never witnessed any murder (yet); at the demand of Mr. Fring, he’d started to learn self-defense and to do more exercise, which, over the time, had had the desired effects: he now ran faster than most people and had some idea of how to defend himself and how to fight back. Nevertheless, to his own frustration, he still wasn’t very fit physically (he’d inherited that unfortunate characteristic from his parents, who had been both quite overweight), and he’d never been in a real fight (thankfully!). </p><p>Subsequently, he just did as he was told, as long as it came from Mr. Fring himself or from one of the five people who were trusted enough for that. </p><p>Hence, he quickly put on his shoes and, taking only his phone - the one he’d just used - as well as the gun that he really hadn’t wanted to own, but which Mr. Fring had insisted he took “just in case” - jumped into his car and made his way towards his workplace. </p><p> </p><p>Walter felt the cold sweat on his back sticking to his shirt, as he and Mike - and the latter’s gun - stared at each other. <br/>He had no idea what Mike had just said on the phone, nor did he know who he’d called, yet he had a terrible foreboding about this. </p><p>Surely that hadn’t been Gale? <br/>Surely that had merely been another employee, who would arrive too late to save the aforementioned chemist… right? <br/>Surely the plan he’d carefully crafted would work? After all, his plans always did, even when they seemed crazy...</p><p>His feeling only became worse as Mike made another phone call and spoke again in… whatever language that was.<br/>Fuck, Walter thought, Jesse and I should’ve done that. <br/>He could see a lot of situations in which knowing a language that was not understood by many here would be useful…<br/>… and by thinking of that, it hit him how little experience he had with all of this. How much still remained a mystery in this business to him. How many risks he’d taken, and how much luck he’d had. </p><p>He kept calm, did not tremble, and hid his growing dread (well, tried to) as Mike put the phone back into his pocket.</p><p>Walter hated that other man. He could see that Mike was a very intelligent person - and he’d also sensed that he didn’t trust Walter at all, and he was pretty sure that he yearned to pull that trigger. <br/>Fortunately, he couldn’t… he was no more than Gus’ underling, and Walter knew himself to be necessary to the boss of the biggest meth empire of the United States (and perhaps even of the entire world). </p><p>During an extremely tense twenty-five minutes, both men stayed perfectly still. At least, Mike did; Walter couldn’t help twisting his hands nervously, and attempting to take a few steps back, only for the older man to point his gun even closer to his face. </p><p> </p><p>And then, Gus entered the room, followed by Victor… and, cowering behind the young man, Gale, looking quite frightened. </p><p>Frightened… but unhurt. </p><p>Meaning still perfectly able to cook. </p><p>And now with a bodyguard determined to protect him. </p><p>And not leaving any possibility for Walter to hurt him. </p><p>Fuck, fuck, fuck. </p><p>Where was Jesse? What the fuck was he doing? Then Walter realized that, taking into consideration the time it must’ve taken Gale to come here… Walter’s partner simply had not had any chance of reaching Gale’s apartment before he left. <br/>Just because of one fucking phone call. </p><p>Gus did not look pleased with Walter’s latest attempted move. The businessman’s face showed very little emotion, as usual, yet Walter could feel the cold rage radiating from his boss. </p><p>His icy smile, however, was even worse.</p><p>Walter this time really started to tremble as the man walked slowly, yet very purposefully, in his directions, the footsteps echoing in the silent lab, the only other sound being Walter’s own frantic breathing. </p><p>He decided to try to take advantage of the friendliness Gale had displayed towards him and of his naive nature, feigning confusion: </p><p>“What-what is going on? Gale?”</p><p>The one being addressed refused to look at him, keeping his gaze low, seeming hurt and dejected.<br/>Meanwhile, Gus stopped a few meters away from where Mike was holding Walter at gunpoint. </p><p>Walter, fully aware of the fact that Gale’s willing collaboration was pretty much essential to Gus’ entire “business”, insisted: </p><p>“Gale? Is-is everything okay? What’s happening right now?”</p><p>Still no answer.</p><p>Mike spoke at last: <br/>“Shut up, Walter. You’re making it worse. He knows you ordered Pinkman to kill him.”</p><p>“W-what? No, that’s not true! It’s a lie! Gale, I swear on my life, on my family-“</p><p>He abruptly stopped talking when Gus turned and walked towards another part of the lab, before opening a storage drawer. <br/>Walter twisted his head, but unfortunately, from his position he couldn’t see what Gus was doing. <br/>However, it couldn’t be anything good for him, of that there was no doubt.</p><p>He called Gale again, and this time the younger man looked up, but the emotions reflected in his eyes weren’t what Walter had been hoping for. </p><p>Gale said at length, in a low and sad voice:</p><p>“Victor caught up to Jesse Pinkman and showed me his phone… the last call was from you.”</p><p>“That’s it? That’s all the proof they showed you? I called him for something entirely different!” </p><p>For about twenty seconds, no one said anything; Walter however could hear the metallic sounds of whatever Gus was methodically picking up from the drawers.</p><p>Then a voice coming from the corridor - the door had been left ajar - said:</p><p>“You see? He didn’t even ask about you.”</p><p>The door opened, revealing Tyrus, who was holding Jesse, the latter obviously having his hands tied behind his back. His head was drooping, and he appeared to be on the verge of crying.<br/>Before Walter could make any endeavour at mending the increasingly disastrous situation, his former partner spoke up:</p><p>“Yes. It’s true. He told me to kill you, Gale.”</p><p>Walter saw his image in one of the shiny surfaces of the lab and realized he’d drastically paled, albeit he had difficulties following any line of thought as panic was threatening to take control of him altogether. He couldn’t even find anything to tell Jesse; without further reflection, Walter blatantly tried to run away, only to be stopped right away by Mike’s very solid grip, who then pushed him against the wall. He was still holding the gun, and for an instant Walter was confused by his not shooting, and felt a spark of hope… before the realization hit him: they were planning on giving him a much slower death. </p><p>He once more tried to use Gale’s feelings to get out of the absolutely dreadful position he was in: <br/>“Gale! I-I was your partner! They’ll torture me to death! You can’t let them do that! Please!”</p><p>That last word had a particularly sour taste in his mouth… a taste of failure and humiliation. That was how low he’d fallen, reduced to begging this absolute nobody, with one of the worst possible audiences: Jesse, to whom he had always felt superior, that he’d on many occasions more or less covertly demeaned, who used to be his minion, who was not supposed to ever surpass him; Mike, that man who had made his distaste for Walter and most of his plans rather clear, and whom Jesse esteemed more than Walter; Victor, that henchman of Gus’, that Walter had immediately hated, that Walter had sneered at because of his obviously submissive (to Gus) personality; Tyrus, that other unimportant employee of Gus’; and then Gus himself, who Walter had thought he could keep under control or at least escape from… currently - meaning far too late - realizing that he’d been very wrong. </p><p>The other chemist, despite his general innocence and lack of vengefulness, was clearly untouched by Walter’s plea. The betrayal that the knowledge that the man, with whom he’d worked and whom he admired so much for his talent, had ordered his murder, had caused was visible on his face. His expression was colder than anything Walter had ever seen of him… there was no chance anymore of him being of any help to Walter.</p><p>Tyrus suddenly took a syringe and planted it in Jesse’s arm; the latter had barely the time to feel surprised before his body went limp and he collapsed, his captor catching him and then dragging him out of the lab. </p><p>Gus was still not done with whatever he was doing, but now Walter could hear more drawers being closed than being opened. </p><p>One minute, during which Walter looked all around the room, having abandoned all subtlety, all kinds of ideas and desperate plans flashing through his mind, without any being viable, passed before Tyrus returned, murmured something to Gale in that language that Walter didn’t understand, and left with the chemist, a comforting hand on Gale’s shoulder.</p><p>As the door closed behind the two men, Walter thought he would throw up because of the overwhelming fear and hopelessness, and his breathing came out short; he believed that he was about to have a panic attack, like Hank sometimes did, or better, a heart attack, since that would unquestionably be a much more pleasant way to go than what his boss had planned for him… nevertheless, he did not get that chance. </p><p>Finally, Gus came back in his direction; Walter caught behind Mike a glimpse of the pushcart presently full of various instruments and substances that was placed a few meters away from him. </p><p>Mike speedily pushed Walter on the floor brutally, and, resting a foot on his back, chained his hands together, and forced him to get up.</p><p>Only then did Walter see what was in store for him. </p><p>There was a series of knives, pliers, needles, liquids that Walter knew to be awfully dangerous, lighters, nails, and other material perfect for torture. </p><p>“I warned you, Walter White. You should have known that this sort of method, unfortunately for you, is not effective on me. Yet you decided to attempt to murder your replacement, directly in my face, apparently truly believing that you could possibly succeed and force me into keeping you as my chemist.” </p><p>Gus’ voice was still calm, and there was no outward sign of anger… which only meant that things were going to go very, very badly for Walter. </p><p>There was no more than a meter separating them when the businessman went on: <br/>“However, I believe that this solves an important problem for me: your brother-in-law.”</p><p>“You can’t kill him, otherwise the whole police force will know he was right about suspecting you!” He was so terrified he had great difficulty forcing the words out of his mouth.</p><p>“No, I will not kill him. In fact, I will give him what he wants… Heisenberg. Your corpse will naturally not be recognizable, but hints regarding your identify will be left… then he will only have to obtain DNA from anything in your house to confirm it. I will also leave one of your thumbs intact.<br/>Therefore, my operation will be left alone, for some time, at least.<br/>And, needless to say, your family will not be keeping any of the money you intended to make for them. The police will seize all of it, and your wife will go to jail. They will be left with nothing but debts... it will only be far worse than what you feared when you learned your diagnosis. <br/>Your children will learn the extent of your crimes, all of them, and will hate you. Your son will never want to be called ‘Walter Junior’ ever again. He will remember you as a horrible father. He will remember his worst moments with you as a father better than any good moment; he will remember how you had him drink tequila until he was sick above the pool. <br/>At least, one of your son’s deepest wishes will become true: Hank will truly become his father, instead of you. Naturally, he already sees your brother-in-law as his father far more than you; however, you will not even be part of the family anymore. <br/>Your daughter will not hear one single good thing about you. And both of your children will change their family name.<br/>There will be no flowers on your grave, and you will receive the most minimal burial.”</p><p>There was almost a smile on Gus’ face as he continued: </p><p>“But I know that it is not your family that matters the most to you; no, it is your pride, your ego. <br/>There will be nothing left of that, either. <br/>Your dead body will be found somewhere hanging by the feet, like any simple cartel member who met an unfortunate end. There will be nothing honorable about your death. It will be publicly assumed that you were most likely killed in a plain quarrel between more important people. <br/>The name Heisenberg will be promptly forgotten. <br/>If you are at all remembered in this business, you will be viewed as no more than another example of someone who thought too much of themselves and stepped too far. <br/>The production of blue methamphetamine will go on, without you, and without any decline. <br/>It will probably be presumed, at some point, that Heisenberg was perhaps not, after all, the creator of this brand of product.<br/>Your life will end no better than it always was: the life of a failure.”</p><p>The Chilean’s voice was even lower, yet still perfectly understandable, as he finished his speech:</p><p>“You have lost, Walter White.”</p><p>Walter crumpled on the floor, hugging himself as if in a very poor and wholly futile attempt at presenting a defense, and said desperately:</p><p>“No, no, no, Gustavo, don’t, please don’t! I can- I can still be useful to you! Boetticher will never be able to produce the same level of meth as I did! Your business will collapse entirely if-if you do this! No!” </p><p>Totally indifferent to Walter’s distress, Mike grabbed him and carried him up the stairs - what would ensue would definitely be messy, and they weren’t going to do that in the lab -; Walter struggled with all of his remaining strength to just escape his hold, without any success. He was then dragged to another room and thrown on a chair, Mike keeping both of his hands on his shoulders, making it impossible for him to get up. <br/>Gus entered the room too, followed by Victor, who was transporting boxes before placing them on the table in the middle of the large, empty room, and exited before returning with the rest of the boxes. </p><p>Walter’s boss - who was starting to look more and more like his killer - gave an order in that foreign language, and he was chained to the table… in the perfect position for a long stretch of torture. </p><p>Gus’s next command was in English - clearly he wanted Walter to know the hell that would be whatever time he had left to live - and he was addressing Victor:<br/>“You know what to do. Make sure he’s still alive in twenty-four hours, though.”</p><p>“No, no, please, I swear, I’ll do what you want-”</p><p>The two older men left the room, the slamming of the door cutting short Walter’s supplications. </p><p>Victor, still without speaking, opened one of the boxes, for once smiling.</p><p> </p><p>When Gus returned, Walter felt as if an eternity had gone by, even though he knew it was just a day. </p><p>It had been the very worst day of Walter’s entire life. </p><p>Forget the day where he’d found out just how much money Elliot and Gretchen had made from his, Walter’s, own work, without giving him any credit nor money; forget the one where he’d learned he had cancer; forget the one with the horrendous ‘intervention’ where his wife, her sister, the latter’s husband and his own son sat in the living room with that ridiculous pillow discussing his fate and how he should just accept others’ help and wanting to take a decision that was entirely, and only, his, making him realize how pathetic and weak he must look like to his own son; forget the one where he’d ended up faking a ‘fugue state’ by walking in naked in a liquor store in the middle of the night, the news mortifying Skyler and Walter Junior - Flynn -; forget the one where he and Jesse had gotten stuck in the middle of the fucking desert solely thanks to the utter imbecility of the young man, which had very nearly resulted in both of their deaths; forget the one where his wife of more than two decades had abruptly dropped the divorce documents on the kitchen table, like that, on an ordinary morning, completely out of nowhere, and revealed that she’d figured out how he was making so much money to then force him to not only agree to the divorce, but also to leave the house - his own fucking house! - basically blackmailing him into it, threatening to not keep his secret; forget the one where she’d actually called the fucking cops on him for daring to set a foot in the house for which he’d been paying for during months; forget the one where he’d learned that, despite the countless obnoxious scenes she’d made whenever she managed to suspect him of having an affair, Skyler had been the one cheating on him, and with, out of all people that she could possibly get in bed with, Ted fucking Beneke, an absolute jackass; forget the one where he’d discovered that Saul Goodman, that corrupted lawyer, and Mike, the ‘cleaner’, had both heard all about his spouse having sex with another man because they’d bugged his damn house; forget the one where his pitiful attempt at seducing his boss, Carmen, had not only been rejected but had also gotten him suspended for ‘and indefinite period of time’ - aka, she’d fired him -... </p><p>None of those calamitous days had been anywhere near as bad as what he’d just experienced. The physical pain was making him lose his mind - and very little after the torture had started, he’d hoped he would simply die already. </p><p>He had never paid a lot of attention to Victor before, only mentally labeling him as ‘one of Gus’ minions’, and consequently knew pretty much nothing about the young man; he certainly hadn’t guessed that he would take so much pleasure in torturing Walter.</p><p>Was it because he and Gale had been closer than what Walter had estimated, and thus the latter’s attempt at killing the former had enraged Victor?<br/>Or was that guy plainly fucked up in the head? Was this one of his usual hobbies? </p><p>Walter still didn’t know: Victor had not said a word during all that time. </p><p>Walter White had fallen so low that he was at present begging some henchman - not even another drug lord - for mercy, crying loudly and uncontrollably, having abandoned any hope of survival, only wishing for death to come at last and end his suffering; he had lost all of his sense of honor. </p><p>A part of it had also been an interrogation, in part regarding Hank… to which Walter had ended up giving true answers, after failing to come up with convincing lies.</p><p> </p><p>Now Gus was back, holding a gun; he talked a bit with Victor, still in that other language, read his employee’s notes about everything Walter had said, took pictures of the pages, then the young man left, and Gus looked down at the chemist. </p><p>Letting his gaze wander on the room, in which nothing had changed, save for the fact that there was now quite a bit of blood on the floor and that some instruments had been left on the side, Walter suddenly felt a strange sense of peace. The pain was starting to fade, finally, and he knew death was at a maximum of a few minutes away. </p><p>He hadn’t won. He hadn’t won at all. Gustavo Fring had been right: he had lost, in every aspect of the situation. </p><p>Yet there was this agreeable sensation of… Walter couldn’t tell what… that was bringing him a sort of comfort as his life was coming to an end… and even when he made eye contact with Gus, he still felt it…</p><p>Belonging. </p><p>It was a sensation of belonging. </p><p>This was it. </p><p>This was his world. </p><p>This was where he belonged. </p><p>And despite everything, he didn’t regret jumping in that business. </p><p>He supposed it meant he really was a heartless monster. </p><p>He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. </p><p>Gus was staring at him, inexpressive; Walter knew that for him, this was nothing new, and nothing particularly special. For the Chilean, he meant nothing.</p><p>When the man pointed the gun at him, Walter wasn’t thinking of his family; he was only thinking that, in spite of the pain, he was dying where he was meant to die. </p><p>Then Gus’ finger pressed the trigger, and-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All right, so that’s it for the fourth way in which Walter White could’ve died! That one was more violent... was that too harsh for Walter? </p><p>Anyway, a few precisions: if you’ve noticed, in not just this chapter but also others I’ve created some random new characters; I did that because I just thought that all of those rich drug lords must have more “employees” than what we see in the series. I know that it might be somewhat weird to have Victor torture Walter instead of Gus (well, Gus emotionally tortured him), but I found it very difficult to properly write it with Gus... I didn’t really know how to write something consistent with Gus’ character here, so I chose Victor instead, because, as we’re not given a lot of informations on him in the actual series, it is easier to just make up his personality. <br/>Besides, Gus is a busy man... </p><p>I know that nothing is ever mentioned about Gale getting any sort of training in Breaking Bad, however, in my opinion, after having worked for Gus for more than six years in that “business”, it makes sense that he would have to learn at least some way of defence... I mean, Gale is rather innocent, but not completely ignorant either. <br/>Regarding what’s mentioned in this fan-fiction about Gale being told to leave his phone on and on ringing mode, I thought that surely, with how careful Gus is, his chemist ought to have better protection and preparation if things don’t go right. </p><p>I decided that Gus, Gale, Victor, Mike, Tyrus, and the two other people I made up working for Gus would all speak Thai together, again as some precaution, to communicate without enemies knowing right away what they were saying. This said, I didn’t choose Thai randomly: in the series, after Gale is murdered and Hank starts investigating his death, at some point Hank brings home a video of Gale singing with subtitles in Thai... the video was, if I remember correctly, private, only for Gale’s own entertainment, so I kind of wondered about the subtitles. Therefore, I found an explanation for it in my fan-fiction.</p><p>Oh, yeah, and about Jesse: Tyrus killed him by shooting him. The first bullet instantaneously ended Jesse’s life, so he felt nothing. A pretty good death, compared to Walter’s...</p><p>Did I make Walter too evil here? I’m not sure... perhaps I could write him differently in another chapter... but personally, that’s the way that I interpreted Walter’s character in Breaking Bad - that deep down, this sort of evilness was already there, that he didn’t just lose control, and that he didn’t really care all that much about his family. There are other ways to see him, though; the character development is one of the elements that make the series so special.</p><p>One last thing: I know that Skyler is presented in a terrible way here, but keep in mind: that is in Walter’s POV, it doesn’t mean he’s right! And really, Skyler isn’t that bad!</p><p>Anyway, sorry for this ridiculously long “author’s note”, and I hope you like this fan-fiction!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Juan Bolsa’s phone calls timing is unfortunate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>... unfortunate for Walter White, that is. <br/>Actually very fortunate for many, many people</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: Jesse also dies in this one. (And the way he is killed is inspired by something the writers of Breaking Bad said… more details on that at the end.) <br/>You will see, many of the lines from an exchange between two characters - Walter and the random character I made up - have been taken directly from the series; I wanted to keep it that way. The timeline, however, has been very slightly altered, so that things didn’t get too complicated to describe, but it doesn’t make a big difference.<br/>Oh and my apologies, this one has a lot of description, and I’m afraid I elaborated wayyyyyyyy too much on the details. I hope it’s still at least slightly interesting!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nobody missed Alcides Ramos Carey, aka “Tortuga”. No one had attended his burial, and there were no flowers on his grave. Whether he had any living relatives was unknown, but if he did, they were very likely estranged, and he certainly didn’t have any real friends. </p><p>However, unfortunately, they now needed someone to take his place, as Juan Bolsa’s household appliances store in Mexico City was insufficient to launder all the money they were making. </p><p>Juan had one of the most important roles in the cartel: he was the main hacker, as well as the accountant, and the one who took care of most of the legal matters in Mexico. He spent a lot of time making his way into the authorities (both American and Mexican)’s computers, and was good enough for it to go unnoticed the great majority of the time; it thus allowed him to see if any of their locations for dealings, or the house of anyone in their business was under suspicions, and to warn his associates in time - it had prevented major trouble multiple times. It was also of great help when it came to choosing said locations, as they naturally couldn’t be close to any spot under heavy police presence, and when it came to meetings - they had to thoroughly avoid any gathering with anyone that the police could be tracking, of course. </p><p>Sometimes, he made a few very subtle changes to the data withheld by law enforcement, in order to throw them off or to completely fuck up a case against one of their dealers or other ‘colleagues’; he really didn’t do that often, though, because it was a move much more likely to be discovered. <br/>It went without saying that he was not capable of hacking just any police computer all over the US or Mexico; he could only focus on those in relevant areas, and it took large amounts of time and efforts, and one had to be extremely attentive to all the details, in order to not leave any traces behind. The timing was especially important, too, as he had to make sure no one was using the electronic devices at the same time as he was hacking them, because otherwise his ‘presence’ would be sighted. </p><p>And it was thanks to this set of skills that Juan Bolsa had found out ‘Tortuga’ was ratting them out.<br/>At least, he’d been in the process of doing it, but had been interrupted by one nice little gift from Juan himself. <br/>It turned out that he’d intervened just in time - the snitch had only caused the arrests of some rather trivial drug dealers, since he’d decided to take the maximum possible amount of time and have the entire DEA team grovel for any fragment of information on the cartel, hence behaving like a spoiled brat and being treated as a king with the most minimal efforts. </p><p>Carey had not been born in a poor environment and had inherited from his father the ownership of a chain of bookstores little after becoming an adult, and therefore had not had to work very hard to continue living very comfortably; that had been especially evident to Juan, as the latter’s family had been very poor. <br/>But, just like so many other people, he’d gotten greedy, and through his very large circle of friends and acquaintances, he’d met Eladio Vuentes, and had readily agreed to participate in their money laundering scheme, as he’d make additional profit from it as well. He had however not stopped there; after becoming closer to Eladio and gaining his trust, he’d witnessed the kind of power the drug lord had and had immediately wanted to be in a similar position. ‘Tortuga’ had proven that he did have talent in doing business and that he was - according to Eladio - intelligent - Juan did not agree -; consequently, after having insisted nonstop that he had what it took to enter ‘the game’, Eladio had given him another role: overseeing the distribution in the city of Chihuahua (as the previous person in charge of that had been killed), which was basically the equivalent of what Tuco Salamanca had been doing in Albuquerque before the DEA had wiped him out. Only, the city of Chihuahua had a bigger population.<br/>Juan had not approved at all of that decision, yet he’d known better than to make a big deal out of it. He had voiced, shortly and not too loudly, his opinion that Carey was a bad choice and that they could definitely find much better, but Eladio had refused to listen.<br/>Ergo, when Juan had shown to his boss the undeniable proof that ‘Tortuga’ was a rat, he had had to make an enormous effort to not tell Eladio something like “I told you!”. That would not at all have gone down well with the man. </p><p>Anyway, currently Juan was supposed to find another business that they could use to make their earnings look more legitimate… which was no easy task. Indeed, it had to be something massive, so that he - and others, if they failed to come across any viable options for themselves, but it would of course be risky if too many of them decided to use the same place - could obtain a position sufficiently elevated to justify getting so much money out of it without drawing attention to themselves, which was particularly sensitive due to Carey’s business having been busted. </p><p>They now knew how it had happened: ‘Tortuga’ had not been careful enough and had spent too much too quickly and too visibly, especially during his trips to the US, resulting in the police catching up to the fact that he was making way too much money than he should be; they’d investigated him and obtained evidence that he was, at the very least, committing tax evasion, and this alone would have probably resulted in him being sentenced to four or five years in a federal jail. <br/>This said, of course, the law enforcement’s investigation hadn’t stopped there - those huge sums that7 he was supposed to launder by adding them to the profit resulting from the book sales had not magically appeared and their source had to be illegal. <br/>Despite that fact being obvious, and a link to drug trafficking already being suspected, the police had not been able to trace back the provenance of all of that money; they’d looked into everyone playing a significant role in Carey’s enterprise, but there were many, and Juan and his associates had covered their tracks very well. <br/>That was how ‘Tortuga’ had ended up making a deal with the authorities - more specifically, the DEA of El Paso, who, because of the circumstances, had been highly interested into the case -: he would tell them all that he knew about the cartel, which he had at that point admitted to being involved with, and he would walk away without any charges. <br/>Nevertheless, Carey hadn’t just given them the information they wanted at once; no, he’d wanted to take advantage of this arrangement as much as possible… which had been an excellent thing for Juan, Eladio and their ‘colleagues’. </p><p> </p><p>Juan had just paid a visit to one of Eladio’s acquaintances in Spain whose company could potentially be a replacement for Carey’s - and Eladio had not gone himself because Heaven forbid the great don set a foot out of his house and that damn pool - and was feeling quite desperate: the acquaintance in question would not do at all. </p><p>He slammed the hotel door behind him and collapsed on the bed; he’d been working continuously for more than fifty-five hours now, thanks to the colossal fuck-up of another associate, and he had to take a plane that would bring him in the US, and it would take off at six in the morning; now it was around thirty minutes past midnight, and considering the time it would take him to reach the airport, to go through the security checks, and the fact that arriving mere minutes before take off was a bad idea, he’d have to leave in no more than three hours. </p><p> </p><p>He was rich now. He no longer had to worry at all about fulfilling his basic needs. He could take hot showers; he got to buy things without having to sacrifice his next meal; he didn’t have to live in an overcrowded place with very little personal space; he had easy access to doctors in order to help him with his health, which had always been precarious; his home was hygienic and nice now. In fact, he currently was far above average in terms of wealth; he could afford a lot that most people would find too expensive.<br/>Knowing what it was like to be really poor, he had been very careful with his expenses; all this taken into consideration, he’d become a very wealthy man. </p><p>However, he had little time to himself and his life was very stressful, with all the risks and how easily he’d get fucked over if he wasn’t extremely cautious. He was always in a rush and could never truly relax.</p><p>Well.<br/>It was still much, much better than what his existence used to be like. He could deal with the anxiety and the amount of work quite agreeably. <br/>Especially since he… sort of took pleasure in more than a few aspects of said work. </p><p>He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly he’d begun to enjoy violence. It had taken him a long time to admit that to himself; in the early months of his involvement with such a brutal type of business, before he became rich, he had liked to think of himself as far morally superior than people like the Salamancas; he’d been telling himself, I am only doing this because to obtain a better quality of life, I am nothing like the bosses. <br/>Except he hadn’t even attempted to stop (not that this was truly an option regardless), or take one step back once he’d earned enough money; in fact, he had happily dived into more brutal affairs. <br/>It was the feeling of power, the feeling brought by seeing others cower in fear before oneself, as well as the surge of adrenaline that he felt when he was hacking rivals’ or cops’ computers and when he was planning something big, that he relished so much, more than the money. <br/>Perhaps if his remaining family hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to become like that. Perhaps if a hurricane hadn’t killed his three siblings (both of his parents having passed away long ago), he would’ve kept his humanity and would’ve stayed the most reasonable one, the sensible businessman… In retrospection, it was the fact that his younger brother and his two younger sisters would get to hear about what he was doing that had made him far more inclined to choose the least violent options and to limit the bloodsheds. <br/>The three of them had been strongly against him getting mixed up with any cartel stuff, and when he’d told them he was thinking about it, they’d tried very hard to convince him to stay away from it, saying that, despite how low the odds were of them ever being able to climb out of poverty without that sort of “business”, it was better than to put themselves in such danger. They’d had many fights about that; of course, it would have been more simple for Juan to hide it, and it would have spared him a lot of angry yelling between himself and his brother and his sisters, but not letting them know about it was totally out of question: his getting involved with any cartel would automatically put them in danger too, and it would be far worse if they hadn’t known about it. <br/>It was after being brutally robbed that they’d changed their views on his becoming part of that and had reluctantly agreed. <br/>And somehow, in big part by luck, he had ended up being among the very few who’d gotten what they wanted from that business without having family members (or themselves) maimed or killed; he’d been able to offer to himself and to his siblings a good life, until losing all three of them to a fucking hurricane, leaving him alone with his money. </p><p> </p><p>He poured himself a cup of coffee, and called Gustavo Fring.</p><p> </p><p>In Albuquerque it was approximately four thirty in the afternoon, and twenty-nine years-old Noah Vaughn was returning to work, having had a small pause. <br/>Despite the lack of… prestige, he truly liked his job at Los Pollos Hermanos; the salary here was above the minimum wage, the site was surprisingly clean and well-maintained for a simple fast-food, it wasn’t too difficult or too exhausting, his co-workers were pleasant and the boss was a nice, generous guy. <br/>The latter, Mr. Fring, who occasionally visited this restaurant - he had fourteen of them, of course he wouldn’t be staying long at any of them - was walking towards two clients seated next to the window - a young man with blue eyes who was visibly high on some shit, and with a rather pitiful look, and a middle-aged bald man wearing glasses - when his cellphone rang. </p><p>Mr. Fring stopped, looked at it and went back towards the kitchen - or his office -; Noah noticed that the two men were surveying the place, apparently waiting for, he supposed, some more service; therefore, he walked up to them himself. </p><p>“Gentlemen, is everything to your satisfaction?” That was the usual question.<br/>The two men nodded - maybe he’d misinterpreted their attitude - and Noah, not thinking much of that little interaction, returned in the kitchen. </p><p> </p><p>Except that the following evening, one of the two men - the older one - re-entered the restaurant, little before its closing hour. Noah only took notice vaguely of him; when he walked up to the counter, the young man asked another habitual question:</p><p>“Can I help you, sir?” <br/>“Diet Coke, please. And five minutes of your time.”</p><p>Noah frowned - what on Earth could that be about? He didn’t know the guy, and, reviewing quickly his own actions, couldn’t think of anything that he’d done that could have possibly attracted his attention in one way or another. He hadn’t been the one either taking care of the meals he and his companion had ordered, nor had he been the one to bring them to him; he’d only asked if they were satisfied because it seemed that it was what the boss had been about to do and because they’d looked like they needed something. <br/>Consequently… was the man… flirting with him? The way he’d spoken to Noah certainly hadn’t sounded very sexy. And the young man did not think himself attractive enough to warrant some stranger basically asking him out or something just like that. <br/>Noah was definitely not interested into the dude that way - he wasn’t gay, and to be honest the man did not, in Noah’s personal opinion, look very good. <br/>They began to speak, the man keeping his voice low. <br/>“What can I do for you?”<br/>“Have a seat, please. I would like to know why you wouldn’t meet with me yesterday.” <br/>“I’m sorry. I’m not following.” <br/>“I sat here yesterday, waiting to meet with someone. I believe that person was you.”</p><p>The young man shifted uncomfortably on his chair; there was something really off about his interlocutor - his gaze was awfully intense, definitely too intense, and his tone was too… grave. </p><p>“I think that you're confusing me for someone else.”<br/>“I don’t think I am.” </p><p>The employee glanced nervously around the room, hoping to meet the gaze of one of his coworkers, so that he could just get an indication of what he was supposed to do, but they were all busy cleaning up the kitchen, and he Mr. Fring was busy with another phone call; he turned back to the man, whose eyes were still fixated right on him. </p><p>“Sir, if you have a complaint, I suggest you submit it through our email system.”</p><p>It was, Noah thought, a very peculiar way for one to say one wanted to make a complaint, and he was pretty sure that it wasn’t whatever this guy was after, but what else could he say? Fuck, why didn’t one of his colleagues just walk out of the damn kitchen and come help him with this weirdo? Why couldn’t Mr. Fring’s business associate just finish saying whatever he was saying and end the damn phone call? He recalled that the boss had instructed him to give him a call if there were any odd or insistent clients and let him deal with it; however, he also remembered the owner of the fast-food chain had told them that his phone call were very important, and that thus they were not to bother him while he was on the phone unless it was something substantial - and, as he was still relatively new to this job, Noah was particularly reluctant to disturb one of his superior’s potentially decisive conversations on the phone. </p><p>He’d been right on that point: the off-kilter customer was not there to make a complaint, as he went on, ignoring Noah’s previous comment: <br/>“I was told that the man I would be meeting with… is very careful. A cautious man." </p><p>Increasingly creeped out, but also sort of getting curious, the employee leaned forward; after all, he was sitting in his workplace, and with four people nearby - what was the worst that could happen?</p><p>“I believe we're alike in that way. If you are who I think you are… you should give me another chance.” </p><p>Clearly, Noah was not whoever this guy thought he was, but now his interest was piqued; therefore, he pretended that he knew what in the ever-living fuck he was talking about. Straightening up, he nodded, waiting for the other man to go on speaking, and he did: </p><p>“My product is the purest, most chemically sound product on the market anywhere.”</p><p>Product? Chemically sound? <br/>The young man may not have a vast knowledge of anything scientific, but he was not a complete idiot either. The dude’s entire behavior had been sketchy as fuck since he’d set a foot in the Los Pollos Hermanos, the younger person with him earlier had obviously been high and with clothes that, well, matched Noah’s idea of what a street drug dealer would wear, looked like he wanted to be discreet - which was, in Noah’s humble opinion, not so successful - and there was doubtlessly a certain avidity in his gaze… <br/>In conclusion, this man was here to make a drug deal. <br/>Doing his absolute best to keep his features perfectly neutral - any signs of excitement would certainly not look very professional, right? - Noah thought rapidly about what he should say; the drug dealer - or, more exactly, producer - had said he wanted another chance; therefore, he’d done something that had made whoever he’d mistaken the employee for reject him the last time they’d talked or met, Noah deduced. All right, so how would a fellow drug dealer react to that? Would he give an associate another chance? But if he said that, then… what? He didn’t actually know what this was about! He should play it safe, and not get involved in this - although, it was kind of tempting. <br/>He settled on replying, in a low and severe voice: <br/>“You think I just give other chances like that?” </p><p>Damn, playing the big scary mafia guy was fun!<br/>The man, visibly insulted by the answer, said between clenched teeth:<br/>“I am not just anyone! You could charge twice the current rate for what I provide and your customers would pay it. And I am the only one capable of making this!”</p><p>Biting his lip to avoid breaking into a grin, Noah asked: <br/>“How can I be sure of that?” <br/>Okay, now the drug manufacturer looked pissed. </p><p>But before he could say anything else, Noah saw Mr. Fring approaching; his phone call was apparently over at last. </p><p> </p><p>Gustavo Fring was so stunned by Walter White’s utter stupidity that for a moment, it almost showed. Then, composing himself, he swiftly intervened before the situation could get any worse, clearing his throat behind the chemist (whose talent in sciences was definitely not to be found anywhere else), who practically jumped out of his chair. <br/>Jesus, how on Earth had that idiot remained alive for so long? <br/>Well, one thing was clear: he would not be living for much longer, as there was no way Gus would take the risk of allowing this cretin to go on acting like that, immediately drawing suspicion to wherever he went - let alone making him his cook. And by killing him, Gus would also ensure that “Heisenberg” would never be a competitor anymore. </p><p>“Excuse me Mr., but we will be closing soon.”<br/>“Oh, um, yeah, sorry, I just need one more minute-“<br/>“My apologies, but I must insist. Have a good evening.” As he said those two last sentences, his tone was still amicable, yet firm and decisive. <br/>White awkwardly stood up, looked like he wanted to continue speaking with Noah, however one glance at Gus made him change his mind. <br/>At last, the imbecile left the restaurant.<br/>Pretending he hadn’t caught the last part of their conversation, Gus instructed - politely and gently, and without showing any sign that it would likely be among the last things the unfortunate Noah Vaughn would hear - his employee to help his coworkers in the kitchen. </p><p>Then, he promptly phoned Tyrus and told him to check the video taken by the surveillance cameras in this Los Pollos Hermanos and to text him the entire exchange between Walter White and Noah Vaughn. <br/>Naturally, only Gustavo himself, Victor Tachiquin, Tyrus Kitt and Michael Ehrmantraut could access those recordings, and they were set to automatically delete themselves if someone else was to try to view them; Gus and his three top employees each owned a sort of remote control that allowed them to suppress all of the tapes the cameras had taken immediately, no matter where they were. The contents of the CCTVs were also wiped out daily automatically, unless Gus or one of his three best workers arranged it to do otherwise. One of the four of them was to take a look at the recordings of all of the Los Pollos Hermano every day, to see if there was anything that any enemy had attempted to do there; of course, since there were fourteen such localizations, and they were all already very busy, they could only cursorily inspect what had gone down at each place, but it still had saved Gus a store of trouble - the number of times Hector Salamanca had attempted to sabotage the fast-food chain was incredible. He had sent many different people to try to replace the normal food supply with rotten food, to intentionally contaminate it, to break the machines, to cause flooding, to pierce the drains, etc. </p><p>Gus smiled lightly when he thought about where Hector was now. He would be visiting him again in a few days; he loved seeing his worst enemy’s face distorted with helpless rage as he listened to the Chilean’s calm gloating, which, to anyone who didn’t know them, looked like somebody kindly providing an elderly and paralyzed man with companionship.<br/>Obviously, if someone was to recognize Gustavo Fring, the owner of Los Pollos Hermanos, coming to talk to Hector Salamanca, whose past high position in one of the deadliest cartels of the continent altogether and whose family’s strikingly fearsome reputation were no secret, it would raise quite a lot of eyebrows; however, naturally, he’d taken precautions to make sure that this wouldn’t happen. <br/>His fourth best cartel business employee, a woman in her thirties named Sally, had obtained a job at that very facility: she was a receptionist. And she was always there the days during which he showed up; she simply didn’t record his presence, unlike what she, as a receptionist, was supposed to do. And despite possessing a major fast-food chain, Gus was not a public figure; thus, one would have to already know him in order to recognize him, and there was nothing conspicuous in his appearance. </p><p>The recordings could only be visual; a microphone would be useless, as there was too much noise coming from the kitchen for any relevant dialogue between customers who were trying to be discreet to be picked up on; this said, Gus and his three closest lieutenants all knew how to read on people’s lips, and the CCTV system was positioned well enough for Walter White’s lips to be visible - and, of course, he had not thought about trying to cover his lips. He had glanced at one camera in the corner of the room… but that camera actually did not work. Its unique purpose was that, if, after some very unlucky event, the police wanted to take a look, Gus could simply point this camera to them, and pretend to be surprised when it would be found to be broken; it would look a lot less suspicious than if he told them he didn’t have any means of surveillance.</p><p>About fifteen minutes later, Gus received Tyrus’ answer, and he nearly facepalmed as he read the ill-fated conversation between his innocent, yet curious recently hired employee and the so-called “Heisenberg”. </p><p>Both of them would be dead before the next morning. <br/>Same went for Jesse Pinkman, as he knew too much. </p><p>Gus watched as Noah Vaughn unconcernedly exited the restaurant; having to order the murder of one of his oblivious employees at one of his fast-food places truly was frustrating to him - in fact, he’d only ever done it once before, when somebody sent by the Salamancas had been particularly imprudent and attracted the attention of a woman working there. He really hoped Noah would be the last one to meet with such a fate, as there was also the risk of foul play being suspected in the death, which would mean inquiries into the young man’s life, and that would unavoidably encompass his job. </p><p>The Chilean texted Tyrus again, this time ordering him to make a road “accident” happen - to Noah Vaughn, who was presently climbing into his car. There was no way he would remain completely quiet about the bizarre encounter he’d just had, those rumors would be spread and in no time it would reach the ears of the wrong people - and any attempt at warning him would only heighten the risks.<br/>Causing car crashes (often fatal), and making it look like a total mischance, was Tyrus’ speciality, and at the moment he was coming from his closest apartment - he had more than one - and, of course, already had Noah’s address. Things should go well in that angle.</p><p>Regarding Walter White, he would send Mike; thanks to the fact that he was working for Gus, the latter could easily get any information that Saul Goodman - Jimmy McGill - possessed, and he happened to be the meth producer’s lawyer; therefore, Gus knew that there was no need to harm anyone else in White’s family, as they knew nothing about his second identity. <br/>His wife was sure he was hiding something major from her, though, and was starting to suspect that it may not be something as simple as having an affair; if Skyler White was intelligent, she would’ve figured it out by now, as the chemist clearly lacked subtlety, but she seemed to be, rather, a simpleton. However, even without being very smart, it wouldn’t take her much longer to connect the dots - and from then on, the situation would become precarious as, even if her husband was capable of keeping her ignorant of just how dangerous his actions were, there was definitely a risk that, in a moment of weakness, or perhaps after having drunk a little too much, she would confide her fears to her brother-in-law, Hank Schrader - and now he could be a real problem. <br/>Ergo, eliminating Walter White this very night was of substantial importance. </p><p>Jesse Pinkman seemed to be less of an emergency, as he wasn’t close to any member of the police and was aware of the perils of speaking about this; nonetheless, he was a drug addict now, and, to Gus, that meant that he’d automatically become a liability and that he could not be trusted to stay silent on anything significant.<br/>Gus himself had on multiple occasions taken advantage of the addictions of competitors’ henchmen to obtain information from them - or even to make them his minions altogether, although he would never give them any important tasks that could be entrusted to one of his more reliable men. <br/>In addition, Jesse Pinkman would likely confide in his girlfriend, Jane Margolis, at some point - and she could become a considerable issue, as she would no doubt endeavour to get her own share from her boyfriend’s doings. At the moment, though, according to Mike, she did not know enough to require being eliminated.</p><p>Normally, he would’ve told Victor to take care of Pinkman, however right now Victor was in Mexico, either in Culiacan, Ciudad Juarez or Tijuana, as he’d been sent there by Gus to kill some people who’d attempted to fuck with some of their supply over the border recently, before going back home, as if Gus was going to let them get away with it. </p><p>He would’ve liked to also assign Pinkman’s murder to Tyrus instead of Mike, as he knew the latter would not appreciate it, yet the former would maybe already have to get rid of his car - as, depending on the technique he’d use, it could get damaged as well - therefore it would be the older man’s job to off the junkie. </p><p> </p><p>Mike had been expecting Gus’ call, however he had hoped the “errand” wouldn’t include Jesse Pinkman; that young man was nowhere near as ruthless as most people in this business, and there was still some hope for him to get rid of his heroin dependence, return to a relatively normal life, break ties with the criminal world, and not get blood again on his hands. </p><p>Unfortunately, it looked like Pinkman’s life would instead be abruptly ended this very night. <br/>Mike knew how he would do it - it was extremely obvious, and he doubted anyone would think that it could be a murder, not even Jane Margolis, as she - thankfully - didn’t know enough. (Indeed, the Whites were not the only ones who’d had their home bugged; however, the devices could only record sound, it could not take any pictures, and obviously they hadn’t been positioned everywhere.) </p><p>It would be more complicated for Walter White - he was married, to a heavily pregnant woman, had a teenage son, and was close to his sister-in-law and his brother-in-law; the latter was a DEA agent. And the sudden death of a chemistry teacher with no criminal past and living in a neighborhood that was considered pretty “good” and whose brother-in-law was in the Drug Enforcement Agency and had recently saved another officer’s life would undoubtedly attract way more attention than the passing away of a junkie estranged from his family, suspected of also being a drug dealer and with quite a few past encounters with the police. Sure, the aforementioned teacher had lung cancer, but that was hardly something that could realistically kill someone overnight. </p><p>Mike sighed; all of this because one of Gus’ associates, Juan Bolsa, had had the misfortune of calling at the two worst possible moments - when Gus was about to approach the table where the drug trafficking duo was waiting, and when the chemist had returned on his own the next evening. <br/>Although… come to think of it, perhaps, for Mike and Gus, it was actually lucky that Bolsa had had such a timing: it had allowed them to see that White really wasn’t talented at all at being subtle. Maybe they’d in fact just dodged a massive bullet. </p><p>He had to act quickly now - he only had one night to commit two murders. </p><p>Possibly… possibly he could take advantage of Walter White’s so-called fugue state. <br/>Which, by the way, had the most idiotic excuse for having been missing Mike had ever heard about. <br/>Seriously, could White not think of something else? Mike, Gus, Tyrus and Victor had viewed the recordings taken by the grocery store’s surveillance cameras; they’d watched the man remove his clothes as he walked down the aisles, at some point tripping over his own pants and well-nigh falling against the shelves, before at last being stopped as he reached the end of the last aisle to the left. <br/>The Chilean had, as always, not expressed any strong emotions, but Mike, who had known him for more than six years, had noticed the look of distaste on his face; as for the two henchmen, they hadn’t concealed their disgust at the situation. <br/>Tyrus had declared, breaking the silence that had followed the viewing of the unpleasant video: “I would much, much rather die.” and Victor had simply said: “Same.” Mike, too, had thoroughly agreed, his employer not even bothering to comment. <br/>It was such an utterly imbecilic move: Walter White could have ended up being registered as a sex offender, for fuck’s sake! He’d strolled in completely naked in a public space! He was lucky he’d been “caught” and brought to the hospital before anyone besides the woman that had found his clothes and two adult customers had seen him! He was also very fortunate that he hadn’t been obligated to stay in a psychiatric hospital after such an “incident”; they hadn’t been able to get their hands on the records of what exactly he’d told the doctor - that was medical confidentiality; it would be much harder for one, even a criminal, to pierce that - but they supposed he’d spun a half-true story, probably about how his life was shit and he couldn’t take it anymore. <br/>To make matters worse, White was the father of a teenage son and a teacher. <br/>God, poor, poor Walter Junior - or Flynn - the embarrassment of knowing what exactly had occurred had to be quite significant. At least, the boy could tell himself that it wasn’t his dad’s fault, that it was something that had gone wrong in his head, that there was nothing his father could have done about it. He certainly was lucky that the story hadn’t been spread around; the unfortunate teenager already had difficulties making friends, apparently; after something like, his social life would have suffered a lot, and Mike knew that for boys and girls of that age, their classmates’ opinion of them mattered. <br/>In truth, his secret could have also been discovered - since, obviously, there was no issue in his brain to explain such a state, his family could have been inclined to dig deeper into his life and his activities, as a high level of stress could play a part in the instance of dissociation. <br/>And White had to be very glad that no one in the school he was working at had heard of his “misadventure” - that would have stuck to him for the remainder of his career. <br/>Mike could think about countless better ideas for a justification of having vanished - for example, if he wanted to keep the story about the supposed “fugue state”, he could have simply sat down inside of the same grocery shop, with the same vacant look in his eyes - but fully clothed! It would have still worked, and it would have saved him tons of trouble. </p><p>Yes, Mike could definitely do something with that.<br/>But first, Pinkman. <br/>Feeling somewhat downcast, he drove and promptly reached his destination.<br/>Quietly - and, naturally, wearing gloves and having verified that nobody could see him - he pulled out the copy of the key of the apartment he’d recently acquired and opened the door; as he’d predicted, both Jesse Pinkman and Jane Margolis were unconscious, lying on their side on the bed, next to a parcel of what the older man instantly recognized as heroin, the syringe the young man had just used still planted in his arm, while his girlfriend’s syringe was in her foot. Mike wasn’t surprised; she would want to hide the fact that she was using again to her father, therefore she wasn’t going to leave marks on her arms. </p><p>Mike picked up the bundle of heroin and prepared with what was left a massive dose that was guaranteed to kill Pinkman, especially since he wasn’t used to it; the amount of the drog he’d injected himself was certainly much smaller than the young woman’s. <br/>He carefully removed the syringe that was already drilled into Pinkman’s arm and replaced it with the new one, and pressed. <br/>He remained standing above his victim, impassively, as the substance entered  Pinkman’s veins, sealing his fate. <br/>He kept an eye on Jane Margolis, making sure she stayed on her side, and did not turn onto her back, as, if she threw up - which was likely to happen in this situation -, it couldn’t get stuck into her mouth and hence her throat, because otherwise she would choke to death on it. Just to be certain, he placed the two pillows against her back. <br/>Then, taking with him the syringe that had previously been in the drug dealer’s arm, he searched the place, swiftly found the drug stash, carried it to his car and drove away. </p><p>The worst part of the plan for this night was over. He sighed; poor Pinkman. Well, at least it would likely be over in no time for him, because of the quantity of heroin Mike had given him, in addition to what he’d already taken. It was much better than the death he would get at the hands of someone like Gus if he were to screw up, which he very probably would. </p><p>Now, Walter White. <br/>In his old, ordinary-looking car, parked near the family’s house, with no surveillance cameras in the area, Mike reviewed his notes - which he’d written in Thai, the language that he, Gus, Tyrus and Victor used to communicate, because it wasn’t a commonly spoken language in the US and in Mexico, but wasn’t so rare that they’d had had difficulties learning it quickly.<br/>It was presently close to 1:30 am; the son should be sleeping, while the parents were still up, but not sleeping in the same bed, considering the disastrous state of their marriage. And Mike was positive that the target would not be the one staying in the bedroom. <br/>Perfect.<br/>He stepped into the front porch, and called Skyler White’s cellphone; a message would be played when she answered, disguised as an ad, but being worded in a very peculiar form that would retain her interest for at least one minute without looking suspicious. <br/>As soon as she accepted the call, Mike knocked on the door. <br/>As predicted, Walter White opened the door, and judging by the fact that he’d done so about two seconds after Mike had knocked, he had not told his wife someone was there, and they weren’t speaking to each other much anymore, unless it was really necessary.<br/>The teacher had no time to even get a glimpse of Mike, as the latter had immediately grabbed him from the side and put his hand on his mouth.<br/>White tried to resist, but his opponent was far stronger - and had infinitely more experience -; hence, Mike closed the door, easily jabbed the syringe into his arm, and a few seconds later he was unconscious. </p><p> </p><p>Gus stared down at Walter White as the man woke up and found out that this was neither his bedroom nor his living room, before looking at Gus, with Tyrus, Mike and Victor - he was back, having finished his job - standing behind him. He tried to get up, but Gus stopped him, pressing his hands on White’s shoulders. <br/>“We will make this simple: you cook for us, here - all the necessary material is available to you - and you get to live.” <br/>That last part was, of course, a lie - which the very inexperienced criminal actually believed, judging from the look of relief on his face. <br/>Then Gus showed the lab to White, his three employees remaining armed near them. The chemist seemed very impressed and was surveying the room with an expression of amazement. <br/>“How - how did you know I would need all of this material, precisely?”<br/>Because they’d traced down the RV where the junkie had attempted making meth with one of his friends, following the formula “Heisenberg” had taught him, and where he’d stupidly left all of the equipment - again, Gus wondered how those two had even lasted this long; could it have something to do with the brother-in-law in the DEA who seemed to act rather carelessly? - but there was no need for White to know that.<br/>“Well, Mr. White? What are you waiting for?”<br/>“But where am I? What is this place? What time is it? And how did you bring me here - and my wife, she’ll be worried, she’ll -“<br/>He abruptly stopped talking, paling, probably realizing that giving them any sort of personal information about himself was not a good idea. If this had been anyone with a better understanding of how this world worked, Gus would have felt a trifle offended - needless to say, he always conducted background checks on anybody who wanted to do any drug-related business with him.<br/>“Get to work,” was the only answer White obtained from him. <br/>“I need a partner. I cannot do that on my own.” <br/>“Victor here will be your partner. Now, start working.” </p><p>The idea here wasn’t complicated: the surveillance cameras around the room would film the chemist’s actions; this however did not suffice to get an unobstructed view of the entirety of the operations, which was why Victor, while assisting White, would also do his best to memorize what each of them; he had an excellent memory - Gus chose his men carefully. And Tyrus would stay very close to them, just in case White tried anything. As for Mike, his job here was done; he was going back to his home, likely stopping somewhere on the way to get a light breakfast - it was about 6 AM presently - and yes, Gus knew very well the habits of his top employees.</p><p>Of course, it would have been more simple to just have Gale assist White; while Victor had acquired some knowledge of chemistry, he was nowhere near Gale’s level.</p><p>The thing was, Gus did not want Gale to be sad or to feel guilt. If Gale cooked with White, even if it was for no more than a day, he’d try to get to know the teacher during the pauses and while eating - when he wasn’t focused on his work, Gale was quite chatty, and was one of the few people who were truly interested into other people’s lives; unless his interlocutor made it clear that he didn’t want to reply, he would happily ask them a lot of questions. </p><p>Consequently, if White was to suddenly be gone the next morning, Gale would want to know what had happened. <br/>And while Gale was, for someone in the drug business, pretty innocent, he wasn’t naive enough to think Gus would’ve just allowed White to go back home, like that, without needing him again. <br/>Gale wouldn’t get angry against Gus - he already knew a large part (though not at all) of his boss’s actions, or at least suspected it -, he probably wouldn’t even express his disapproval, but he would feel down for a few days, and that would affect his performance as the meth maker. <br/>Plus, Gus genuinely wanted Gale to be content with his job; Gale’s innocence didn’t annoy Gus like it would if it was anyone else; it was actually sometimes pleasant to be around someone who wasn’t as cold as Gus himself and his other top employees.</p><p>Therefore, thanks to the recordings and to what Victor would tell Gus, the latter would provide Gale with the instructions to produce the “sky blue” meth. Gale would not know where it came from, and he wouldn’t ask - he’d learned how things worked with Gus. If a partner was indeed necessary, Gus would have Victor, Tyrus and Leonie - another one of his trusted employees in the drug business - take turns assisting Gale. Mike was needed for other jobs, and his schedule was less flexible than the three others; Gus knew his family time was very precious to him, and he respected that. </p><p>Gus left little after Mike, locking the door behind himself; it was not the only exit from the lab, but the others could only be opened using a certain system. </p><p>And then he got in his car, and drove towards the same Los Pollos Hermanos, knowing that a member of his staff would be missing. </p><p> </p><p>Donald Margolis felt as if his heart had stopped beating when he saw the ambulance and the police car in front of his Jane’s apartment, the paramedics carefully moving a gurney on which rested what was clearly a dead body, covered by a black blanket.<br/>“No! No!” <br/>He jumped out of his car and rushed towards the cadaver; the paramedics had to physically hold him back. He struggled frantically, calling his daughter’s name, knowing that she couldn’t answer anymore, couldn’t move, that it was over, that- </p><p>And then he heard her voice, coming from the apartment.<br/>Jane was there, speaking to two policemen.<br/>Donald hurried in her direction and, interrupting one of the cops’ questions, hugged his daughter, and started sobbing, only able to ask her through his tears if she was okay. She answered yes, but in a shaky voice; she was very pale, and when he looked into her eyes he saw that she’d been using again.<br/>The two policemen waited a few minutes, then continued their line of questioning; Jane denied possessing any heroin, stating that he was like that when she’d woken up, and that she had no idea he’d been taking any drugs. Clearly they weren’t buying it, but, as the substances themselves were nowhere to be found, they eventually let her go. </p><p>As soon as the emergency services left, Donald turned to his daughter and said, in a tone that meant he wasn’t going to accept any refusal: <br/>“I’m bringing you back to rehab. Right. Now.”<br/>“No - wait - what about my things? And last time you, you let my plants die!”<br/>Sighting, not releasing her arm, he replied, some anger seeping into his voice as he replied that he was going with her to pick up her things and that he promised this time he’d take better care of her plants - but there was no question about it: she was returning to rehab. <br/>He was terrified that if he allowed her just a few hours before going back to rehab, he’d find her like her friend. <br/>He wasn’t going to let that happen.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my God, she is so cute!” Marie cooed at Skyler’s newly born baby, who was, thankfully, healthy; the blonde woman was crying of joy as she gazed at her kid, internally swearing that she’d never let anything happen to her, that she would forever be her child’s protector. Hank stood next to them, beaming but looking somewhat awkward, evidently not knowing what to say, before settling on: “Congratulations! She’s adorable!” <br/>Skyler had gone into labor shortly discovering that her husband had left to go God knows where; she’d called her sister in panic, who’d immediately woken up her spouse and picked up Skyler; they’d decided to not take Walter Junior - Flynn - with them, as Skyler didn’t want her teenage son to see her like that, and he hadn’t insisted to come, feeling uncomfortable by his mother’s distress, even though it was pretty much normal for a woman giving birth to go through such pain.<br/>The absence of her husband had spoiled a little the moment; she had no idea where he’d gone and he hadn’t left any messages, nor answered the numerous calls they’d given him; they hadn’t been any luckier with the texts. <br/>Skyler decided to put that aside; she’d get upset about that later. Right now, all that mattered was that Holly was born and it had gone well. </p><p> </p><p>“You can’t - you can’t have just anyone do that! They won’t be able to! It’s a unique, extremely complex process, I am the only one who can do that! Besides, I can do many other things that would be very useful to you-”<br/>Gus simply pulled the trigger, completely indifferent to the pathetic man’s pleas. Then, he called Mike to clean the mess and took off the protective gear he’d put on over his usual businessman clothes. <br/>He walked into the lab, where Gale was already - he was never late -, accompanied by Victor. There was a smile on Gale’s pleasant face as he enthusiastically studied the new instructions; he greeted Gus joyfully, and Gus had to make an effort to not smile too. </p><p>Gale was really sweet, and it was not an adjective that Gus would think suitable for a lot of people.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The first name and the first family name are totally random for “Tortuga”; however, what I chose for his second family name - Carey - means turtle in Spanish as well, apparently, which is why I thought it would be fitting!<br/>Yeah, I know, too much description in that one, my bad. <br/>Any comment, positive or negative, would be appreciated. Oh, and by the way, would it be better if Walter’s death scenes had more gore?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>